


We Will Overcome (Let The Cowards Run and Hide)

by personalized_radio



Series: Love In The Middle Of A Firefight [2]
Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Youngblood Chronicles, Better Living, Childhood Rebellion, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Guest Appearances By: Paramore, Guest Appearances By: Sisky of The Academy Is..., Guest Appearances By: The Cab, Guest Appearances By: Twenty One Pilots, Loyalty, M/M, Minor Character Death, Music Is So Important, Parental Problems, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD symptoms, Rebellion, Sneaking Out, The Youngblood Chronicles - Freeform, This comes with all the umbrella warnings for the Youngblood 'verse - Be Warned, corrupt society, traumatic event
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2822726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/personalized_radio/pseuds/personalized_radio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick grew up surrounded by white.<br/>White walls, white appliances, white clothes, white buildings and streets and pills he didn’t take, white lies and white truths, white, white, white. He grew up in a white apartment building. There were specks of gray, where the perfect paint had chipped and thinned to show the color underneath, only on the sides shadowed by the apartments next door and never on the front, facing outwards and into the proper street. No one ever saw them except Patrick, who went looking for those imperfections.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Will Overcome (Let The Cowards Run and Hide)

**Author's Note:**

> sorry sorry sorry this was so late! I promise, this shouldn't happen every time, school was just a mess these last two months and I'm kind of planning on joining the Bandom Big Bang (and maybe doing it correctly this time X) so the next one might be a little late as well, but there should be one up about every month or so.
> 
> I'm kind of my own beta except for Maggie, who looks over my shit when I whine enough, so sorry for any mistakes. I feel like the pacing in this is also really off but after running through it one time or so, I'm just gonna go with it unless everyone hates it and demands I redo it! Enjoy :)

Patrick grew up surrounded by white.

White walls, white appliances, white clothes, white buildings and streets and pills he didn’t take, white lies and white truths, white, white, white. He grew up in a white apartment building. There were specks of gray, where the perfect paint had chipped and thinned to show the color underneath, only on the sides shadowed by the apartments next door and never on the front, facing outwards and into the proper street. No one ever saw them except Patrick, who went looking for those imperfections.

Patrick was an imperfection, the peeling white paint. Since before he could remember, he’d been an oddity. Too loud for the quiet of the inner city, too quiet for the slums he snuck into when he was old enough to know what _slums_ and _sneaking_ meant, too opinionated for his father and the Better Living employees but too weak to back what he was saying up.

Classes were four days a week, an hour a day and consisted of Patrick, a single white desk and a single white pencil with a monitor screen mounted to the perfect, white wall. There was a lady, Asian with pretty, dark hair and a white, white smile. For the first twenty minutes, he’d watch the video and for the next twenty he would do a single assignment that would never take him over the allotted twenty minutes to do then for the final twenty he would review what he’d learned the week before. Her smiling face never left the monitor, eyes watching him at all times, like she’d always been watching him, even before she’d been recorded so her face could watch him now. At the end of his lesson, a buzzer would sound and a slot would open up for him to throw his papers and pencil away. Patrick had never known a time where he felt safe in the knowledge that what he was learning was truth. Force fed fact and fake and fake and fact and fake and fake and fact and fake, until fake and fact were the same thing and ‘fact’ had lost all meaning. Better Living had always been, would always be, was, and it wanted only the best for it’s people, and so required the best from them. Except it _wasn’t_ the best.

His society was corrupt. Everything was controlled and watched and time slotted into it’s rightful place.

Sometimes, in the quiet, Patrick would ache. Somewhere in his chest, where his heart was, there was something that ached. Something that wasn’t right. He didn’t know what it ached for, but it was something important, something that hurt to not have.

“Better Living,” his father always said, “only wants the best for it’s customers.”

But it _wasn’t the best._ Patrick could see that in the blank, drugged out faces of every employee he passed on the street, every grinning women on the screens, in every Drac mask he’d ever seen. Better Living wasn’t _better_. It was evil (a word he’d learned only because of his lessons on the evils of the rebellion; factions of bin rats and slummers who were fighting against Better Livings goal of a _better tomorrow_ ), it was corrupt and Patrick _knew_ it was _wrong_ , felt it in his very being. He didn’t want to be a drone like his father, or the people he was surrounded by. He was _different_ and he _knew it_. He didn’t want to be a part of this society, a society where people were dragged, beaten bloody, through the streets to be mocked for refusing Better Living’s better tomorrow. Patrick would never let them turn him into one of those people, who laughed as that victim was dragged with a trail of blood behind them. Not without a fight.

Patrick snuck out for the first time when he was eight and, since then, it had become a regular affair to him.

Dinner had been a silent affair, like always. Patrick’s dad tried not to talk to him unless absolutely necessary, and he only insisted on them eating together because an acquaintance of his father’s had mentioned that children at Patrick’s age were more likely to unknowingly rebel and needed to be strictly watched.

“I’ll be in my study all night,” his father said firmly as soon as Patrick’s plate had been cleared, “So don’t bother me. I have important work to do, understand?”

“Yes, father,” Patrick nodded, kicking his legs back and forth on the chair. His feet were nearly two foot off the ground, the chairs having been made for adults and so tall that not even his father’s feet quite touched the ground, so he could get a pretty good swing going if his father didn’t notice and chastise him, “I’ll be quiet.”

“Good boy,” His father nodded and stood, taking their plates, “Now go to your room.”

“Yes, sir,” Patrick promised and hopped down, having to use the bar in the kitchen to keep his balance from such a far fall. His knees bent on impact but he stuck the landing and scurried to his room without a backwards glance.

He shut his door carefully, and then pressed his face to it hard and listened for the sound of his father disappearing into his study like he did every night. Patrick knew he’d start drinking ten minutes after closing the door and finishing his actual work so once the door thudded close across the apartment Patrick looked at his clock and began the countdown.

Ten minutes exactly passed and then Patrick gave it an extra minute more before he carefully opened his own door. It was silent as he slipped from the crack and then carefully shut it again, keeping an eye on the study door in case there was a variation in schedule on this night, of all nights. But there wasn’t, so he made his way to the kitchen on silent feet. His bag was packed with his shoes and a coat but otherwise empty, space meant to be filled with food. This wasn’t his first time so he knew just how much he could take before his father got suspicious. He’d made that mistake a few months after he’d started, and he’d had to stop for nearly three weeks until his father had gotten paid again and replenished their stocks. He’d managed six whole bottles of water and two loaves of bread, the hard kind his father always bought for Patrick to eat when he was hungry during the day while he was alone. It wasn’t much, but a slice of it could keep someone his size full for quite awhile and the water was clean. He packed in a few cans of fruit, though he knew they were laced with Better Living chemicals, just in case, and he was ready. He could only do this once a week or so, so he took what he could and left out the front door as quietly as he could. It wasn’t until he was out of the apartments and into the alley between it and its neighbor, next to the peeling paint, that he yanked his shoes out, stuffed his tingling feet into them and pulled his coat on. Finally, he pulled the cap he’d had in his pocket over his red hair and slipped into the alleys leading to the ghettos.

He reached his usual spot in under ten minutes, where he had his regulars already waiting. He just opened his bag and a small crowd of children snuck forward, out of the shadows of the walls, to take their pickings.

“Hi, Patrick,” The biggest one smiled, onced the bag was empty. She looked younger than Patrick, who was nearly nine, so her crew of children couldn’t have been much older than him. The smallest looked barely old enough to walk. It made Patrick’s insides hurt, so he just offered the last of the bread to the toddler and smiled at their leader, “Hi, Ash.”

“Thanks for this,” She mumbled around a bite of bread, barely a mouthful but more than enough to keep her going, he knew.

“No problem,” He blushed, “Just glad to help. I’ll be back in two weeks,”

“We’ll be waiting.” She said with a smile, “Stay safe. You’re world is possibly more dangerous than ours.”

“Doubt it,” He shook his head, “But thanks. You too.”

He left with an empty bag but a bigger smile on his face than before.

Patrick had snuck out for the first time when he was eight. He’d overheard his father on the phone with a work associate (Patrick had learned over time his father didn’t have friends,) and they’d been talking about some ‘slum rat brats’ who had been begging for food along the streets the other day. Patrick hadn’t quite known what a ‘slum rat brat’ was, but he’d understood that they were hungry and that was good enough for him. He’d met them that night, after his father had passed out and he’d stuffed his bag with a loaf of bread and a few bottles of water. There were an ever changing number of them, always led by Ash but sometimes doubling in size or returning with only a half of who had come the time before, and they were always children who needed food or water. So Patrick had created his system and every two weeks he would go to that spot and give them what he could spare from his own kitchen. He’d go and hang out in the ghettos sometimes, and Patrick never met people, but he got to know them. He’d confirmed what he’d always thought in the back of his mind, that the society he lived in wasn’t good. All the people out in the ghettos and slums, in the city surrounding Patrick’s home, dying in the streets and children starving like it was normal, Better Living was doing it to them.

Patrick wanted to fight them, wanted to make life better for Ash and her crew, for all of the people he saw on his adventures. He asked someone, once, how he could help. He’d been barely nine, and the man had laughed for a while two minutes before handing him a strange instrument of some sort and calling it a ‘guitar’.

“This,” The man had said, “Is what you use to fight back. Create shit, use your imagination. To create is to hope, and to hope is to never lose, not even when you die.”

So Patrick stained one of his blankets beyond repair and his dad made him throw it out. Instead, he hid it away and waited until his next food run to trade it for his own guitar. The next time, he traded two of his warmest shirts for a lesson book and a jar of peanut butter for a demonstration.

After that, he played every night, softly under the loud blaring of a Better Living sanctioned CD so neither his neighbors nor his father in the next room could hear him. If he got caught, he knew he could be killed, even Ash had told him so when he’d mentioned it to her, but he didn’t think he could care. Not a little bit, not with the music in his fingers and the words in his mouth. He started sneaking out a little more, once a week instead of every two. He didn’t have food to trade, so he traded his lessons book for a different one when he was through with it, traded any knick knacks he bought with the small allowance his father gave him for music sheets or a lesson on any random rent-a-ment he could find. His favorite were the drums, but they were also the most expensive to rent, so he usually focused on bass or guitar, keyboard if he could find one, even a tambourine would do when he got the itch under his skin to make some _noise_ , just _create_.

He was ten when it went wrong.

His dad would be gone not only all night but all day as well, so he’d decided to spend a rare day exploring outside of the Better Living controlled inner city.

It wasn’t his usual day, so he didn’t bother going to look for Ash. He’d never find her if she didn’t want to be found, so he focused on the alleys he’d been memorizing for two years. He knew them nearly as well as the back of his hand, but he also knew that if he was arrogant about it, he could be lost forever. Occasionally, one could find a dead body or even a skeleton if one got deep enough into the alleys, between buildings broken down, filled with people to the point or bursting, and businesses run by the seedier parts of Better Living.

He was exploring a lesser known alley, close to home but far enough away that it could take him awhile to get home, when it happened.

A man appeared at the mouth of the alley he was in, bright white hair and a serious look on his tense face.

“Kid,” He gave him a worried look, not stopping his nearly timid stride, “If you don’t want to be hurt, get the fuck outta’ here.”

“Um,” Patrick said carefully, not sure how to respond.

The man didn’t say anything else, just kept moving with two others behind him. After them, a whole crowd of people followed. They wore dark clothes, moved so fast behind the white haired man that they were nearly blurred to his crappy vision. He had no where to go, the alleyway a straight and narrow path, so the blonde boy was a surprise. He had pale blond hair, strange for city borns but not so much for desert born, according to the few lessons he’d gotten on desert borns.

“What the fuck, how did you,” the boy frowned at him, “It doesn’t matter. Come on, kid, you’ll be left behind.”

“But I,” Patrick tried, only to be gripped tight by the hand and pulled _into_ the congregation.

People, full grown men and women, were crying and the group of children he was herded into were scared and clinging to each other, looking around wildly. For the first time in his life, Patrick wanted to go home, curl up in his bed, where he was safe. He’d never been a part of a group of people before, let alone one so big and _fearful_ and it was overwhelming. Only running with them for a few streets was enough to tell him that this was no casual community stroll. He didn’t know a single person, no one was recognizable to him and even if they had been, he’d only ever spoken to Ash more than once.

He tried to slip away, but that blond boy was back, shaking his head.

“If you leave, you’ll be trampled or left behind,” He warned, a women behind him nodding, “Stay here, we’ll protect you.”

“But,” he tried again, except the boy wasn’t listening anymore, he was shoving a man who had nearly run a kid over away with a bark of ‘fuckhead!’, so Patrick melted back into the crowd.

He didn’t get the chance to escape until they’d made it all the way to the wall of the city. Even Patrick, who had pushed and shoved at the rules his father had set for him, never broke the one that said never to be caught on the wall. As soon as the blond boy had turned his head, Patrick slid out of the group of kids and shoved his way out of the crowd until he’d hit the stone walls of the surrounding buildings. He spotted an alcove in the mouth of the alley that’d just exited so he made his way to it without hesitation. He didn’t have the strongest arms, but he pulled himself and used the wall as leverage until he’d pulled himself into the hole in the wall, deeper than he thought it’d be, to the point that he could curl his whole body into it and become invisible to the ground below. From his vantage point, he watched with wide eyes as the crowd began to disappear, through a hidden break in the wall. Patrick never would have noticed it if the group hadn’t started shoving through it. Whatever formation they’d had, it was gone now, people shoving and pushing until they could get through. He spotted the blond boy again, herding crying and screaming kids together until half of the group was pulled from the other and shoved through the crack.

Patrick spotted the white before possibly anyone else. Draculoids were a common sight to him, but something told him they weren’t a welcome one to the parade of escaping city borns.

He grabbed at the ground around him until he found his own bag, where he pulled out a small pouch of shiny pebbles and beads. Ash had given them to him in exchange for the food despite his protest. He pulled one out and hurled it at the body of the closest would be escaper.

“Shit!” The women cursed, turning to see who had thrown the rock. Instead, she spotted the incoming dracs. The incoming Vixens.

“Better Living!” She screamed, “Dracs!”

The call was taken up, a warning, and the whole crowd shoved forward uselessly.

Patrick had never seen a Vixen before, they were never really needed in his part of the city, but he’d heard of them and there was no mistaking the shiny skirts they wore, or the blank, pretty faces surrounding the screaming group of people. The Dracs were no less scary, horrid masks covering their faces. Patrick had seen what they were capable and willing to do.

The two groups clashed with sprays of blood. Shots of ray guns rang out and a few Dracs dropped before the rest were covering themselves in blood splatters. Patrick couldn’t make a sound. Horror flooded his body.

He was going to die.

He pulled his legs tight to his chest and just breathed out through his mouth and in through his nose, held his breath until he was silent. He couldn’t close his eyes, terrified that at any moment one of them would look up and spot him. Instead, he watched in absolute terror as the break in the wall somehow stopped becoming an exit and people were trapped, like that saying Patrick had read in his last contraband book, like fish in a barrel. He was barely able to keep his stomach in, watching as Dracs fell onto people, ripped and clawed and tore until they were bleeding lumps on the ground. Blood tripped down the alley like rivers, pooling together and mixing until it overflowed and followed the townward incline.

 _I have to get out of here_ , he thought suddenly. He had to get out of there. He had to leave _now_ , because once they started searching for survivors, he wouldn’t be able to. No one was watching _behind_ the Better Living operatives, where he was. He could leave, he had to leave, but he had to go immediately.

He was too high to just jump so he started climbing down. He couldn’t stop the tears, but he bit back any noises he might have made. Even under all of the screaming, he didn’t want to risk it. Getting up had been much harder and gravity did much of the work on his way down so he was on his feet and bolting in under two minutes. He’d lost his position while the blond boy had been aware of him so he followed two women who had also managed an escape. One was bleeding heavily, leaving a trail behind them, leading to them all as long as they traveled together. As soon as they hit a main road, Patrick was gone, leaving them both behind. He was still turned around, but at least he was marginally more safe.

“Patrick?” A familiar voice asked carefully soon after he’d stopped to catch his breath and throw up everything in his body against a wall.

“A-Ash,” He said in relief, voice wrecked and face puffy with tears, “Ash, I-”

“What the hell happened to you?” She asked carefully, hurrying to him and touching his shoulder, sliding her hand down his arm and back up a few times to sooth the goosebumps.

“I-” He tried to say, “There was a group-they were trying to escape, I dunno, I dunno, they just-” He sniffed hard, voice barely audible, “Dracs, Vixens, there was so much _blood_ ,”

“Oh, Patrick,” She said sympathetically, “Come on. I’ll take you to your usual spot,”

He nodded silently. They didn’t stop holding hands until they’d reached the familiar spot.

He clutched his bag tightly to his chest, shaking hard. They were probably going to come for him soon. No way had he escaped without being seen. Not by Better Living. They saw nearly everything.

“I should…”

“Don’t worry,” She said gently, though she was obviously as scared for him as he was for himself.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to come back,” He choked out, feeling weak with fear, “I don’t know if I’ll be alive, I don’t know,”

“I understand,” She said immediately, “I understand, and that’s okay. We’ll be okay. The Black Parade,” She motioned towards where they’d come, “That’s what you saw. It was a big rebellion. All of them trying to get out. They took a _lot_ of kids with them, so my crews gone down to only a few, six to ten usually. We’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he nodded, “Good. Okay. I want you guys to be okay.”

“You, too, Patrick.”

“B-bye, Ash. It was nice knowing you.” He tried to joke. It wasn’t a joke though. He felt like a dead man walking.

“Bye.” She said softly, squeezing his hand tightly and kissing his cheek. Then she was gone and Patrick didn’t even hesitate, turned on his heels to bolt home.

 

-

 

He hadn’t slept at all, not even for a few minutes, since he’d gotten home. His father still hadn’t returned but Patrick didn’t much mind. He hadn’t had any food in a while but he didn’t think he’d ever be able to eat again, let alone sleep. Instead, he set up a recon fort on the patio overreaching the pitch black street, framed by two perfectly white sidewalks. He spent the rest of that day, after he’d returned home, the night and the next day watching the road for Dracs coming to take him away or Vixen’s sneaking up to slaughter him in his bed, or even Better Living scientists come to take him away and experiment on him.

Instead, a few hours after sunrise, when most of his little world was awaking to start their day, Dracs did appear, but not to take Patrick away. Instead, he watched as two of them appeared at the mouth of the street, a limp body between them. They were pulling it by it’s arms, and even from so far, Patrick could see the blood it was trailing behind, staining the white of the sidewalk a bright red.

As they grew closer, Patrick nearly lost his stomach again. Instead, he dry heaved in the corner of the patio, fingers squeezing compulsively on the bars of the patio. His eyes, watery and wide, latched onto the familiar blond head. The boy from yesterday. The boy who had seemed dead set on getting Patrick safely out of the crowd (and out of the city, apparently), dragged by his wrists through the residential area, trickles of blood steadily leaking from him like the women’s had while they ran. Patrick didn’t know what to do, didn’t know who to beg to help him, so he did the only thing he could do and prayed to the city like the people who lived outside of Better Living’s black and white world did. He prayed as hard as he could, to the city, the Smog, the Shadows, even the Deceit that kept him safe. He didn’t know if it worked, but he hoped harder than he ever had before that the boy would be saved.

 

-

 

He didn’t sneak out again. He knew he’d been lucky, was lucky to even be alive, and he knew it was too dangerous now. If something like that happened again, he didn’t think he’d get out.

The thing was, though, Patrick had already tasted freedom. He already had a beat up, old guitar deep under his bed, taken out once a week to practice on, lessons memorized and folded up tight, placed inside the hollow of the guitar with a string tied around it to keep it from getting lost, fingers itching for music and creation. He could never go back to how it’d been before, before he snuck out, before he’d found music, before he found out what _hope_ could be. He was only ten years old, but Patrick knew he’d never be able to live like his father, day in and out in a factory or a meeting, whatever it was he did. That wasn’t Patrick, and though he was scared to die, he’d rather face death than face that lifeless existence.

So Patrick wrote. He used up his allowance to buy a notebook, more expensive than a tablet because paper had been discontinued for public use, but worth it. He wrote shit lyrics and poems, stupid words and phrases in shitty handwriting, whatever he could think to write. And he wrote music too, things to go with his stupid lyrics, until he had stupid _songs_ , stupid songs that weren’t really so stupid because they were _something_. Something he’d created. If he couldn’t scream and have people respond like before, he’d create his own world, his own conversations with himself through his music. Everything he saw, heard, it was all music to him. Creation.

He was thirteen when he met Joe.

“Patrick,” His father said firmly, “Your classes have been moved.”

“Hm?” Patrick blinked, looking up from the article he’d been reading. His newest hobby, when he wasn’t writing, was to go through Better Living written _news_ articles and highlight what he thought were lies. So far, most of the first four paragraphs were highlighted, though the fifth was clean. Mostly because he hadn’t read that part yet, “I’m sorry, my classes?”

“Have been moved. You’re going in the afternoon now. Your classes will start at three and end at four thirty, I will be there to pick you up at four forty-five, sharp.”

“Yes, sir.” Patrick nodded, fingers still against the touchscreen, though he hadn’t looked up. His father hadn’t spoken to him in what felt like days so even this small exchange was like cold water on a sunburn, a relief that wouldn’t last but was nice while it lasted. Patrick wasn’t sure what he’d done that made his father hate him so much, but it was too late to fix whatever it was.

The next day, his father backed out of their designated garage in a perfectly white hovercar. It was pretty fancy, with black Better Living logos on both doors and the hood and a ‘Happy BL Employee 548937! were the old stories said used to be a license plate. Patrick hated it.

He was dropped off in front of the school building at two twenty-five exactly and his father was gone without even a goodbye, off to some meeting or another which called for Patrick to be dropped off so early.

“I’ll just...go to the bathroom, then.” he finally settled on, “Hang out, or...something.”

The building was shaped like a rectangle, a single hallway with doors on both sides. It was all pure white, except for the lines of the tile squares on the floor and the silver door knobs, which Patrick hated. The bathrooms were at the end of the hall, a sign over each door, ‘Women’ on the left and ‘Men’ on the right.

He expected silence when he walked into the bathroom with vague plans to sit in the bathroom and compose in his head. Instead, there was a soft buzzing and foot tapping. The buzz had a pulse though, a soft ‘bum-BU-BU-bum-Bu-Bu-bum’ to it that was...eerily similar to some of the lessons he’d memorized for the drum rent-a-ment, and the tapping was to the same beat that he tapped his own feet when he played the guitar.

He followed the sound. He couldn’t not. He knew he should have turned and left, pretended he didn’t hear anything if he didn’t just go and tell one of the employees, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t because those sounds were the beat and tempo of one of _his_ songs. So he followed the sound, all the way to the last stall, and looked under to see feet about his size tapping against the tiled floor. And they _were_ beating to the right time.

It was so illegal. The man who had originally told Patrick to create had been right and laws on music and art had only grown stricter. Recordings held such a high penalty to them that not even Patrick was brave enough to go out and trade for a music player.

This kid, though. Whoever this guy was, he was bold as fuck, listening to both earbuds in public, in a place that echoed, no less! Patrick would have been a little worried for his mental health, if he weren’t so jealous.

But Patrick was a good person, even when he was green with envy, so he knocked on the stall door. The kid jumped at least a foot high and the buzz cut off immediately. It was better, Patrick thought, to be a little embarrassed by Patrick than a little dead by Dracs. Patrick had learned that the hard way. Sometimes, he still dreamed of that night. Of seeing the blond boy, bleeding and beaten and defeated, dragged down the street like a bright signing reading “DO NOT REBEL.”

The stall door creaked open slowly and a scared face appeared. He was about Patrick’s size, or appeared so, with very light scruff already growing on his face and cropped short hair. The scared look disappeared as soon as he saw Patrick, and was replaced with a perfectly blank one.

“What.”

Patrick assumed it was meant as a question, though it sounded much to blank to be one.

“Um, I just, uh, can hear you, uh...music. I can hear it from the d-door. Just thought you might, uh, want to, um, know,”

“Oh,” The boy said, dropping the guarded look, “Thanks, man.”

His voice was careful so Patrick just nodded and hoped the desire to hear the music too wasn’t as clear on his face as he thought it was.

“Hey,” the boy said after a few moments of them standing there, awkwardly looking at each other.

“Look, dude, if like, you promise not to tell on me or anything, we can like...share.”

“S-seriously?” Patrick couldn’t help but ask, because no fucking way.

“Yeah, man. I’m Joe.” Joe stuck out his hand and Patrick didn’t hesitate to shake it.

“Patrick.”

Joe pulled him into the stall and they situated themselves on the toilet so that neither of their feet were showing underneath. Patrick set a silent alarm on his tablet so he wouldn’t be late for class and Joe handed him a bud. They listened to the music together and it was...mindblowing. Better than almost anything Patrick had ever felt in his whole life. Better because he had someone to listen to it with him. Someone who knew what he knew.

After that, Patrick started to come in thirty minutes early for class (he told his father that it was for tutoring in his Better Living History. He wasn’t sure how it was believable because Better Living History was ‘we have always been and we shall always be’, but he wasn’t going to argue) and Joe stayed thirty minutes late. They’d sit in the bathroom, squish together on the toilet like the first time, backs together and feet flat to the stall wall, using each other for support, listening to Joe’s illegal as hell music player. Sometimes, they talked about stupid things, what parts they liked or the first time they heard this or that song, the first time they’d touched a guitar. Sometimes, Joe was a little distant. A little angry at Patrick, though he never really knew why. In the beginning, he was scared that Joe would turn out like his father, would hate him for some reason or another and just spend time with him because he thought Patrick would tell on him or something. Or at least, that was how it seemed to Patrick had first. He’d tried telling Joe that he wouldn’t tell, if Joe didn’t want to...hang out with him, or whatever it was they were doing, but Joe had just...lost the distant look and punched him in the shoulder before showing him the music he’d downloaded the night before. They only saw each other for thirty minutes, four times a week but Patrick felt like their friendship was...special. The kind of friendship forged through a fire built on doing something wrong, but something wrong that felt right. Music was something he felt in his bones, in his soul, and Patrick didn’t think he could give it up if it meant saving his life.

“Hey,” Joe shoved against him, ten minutes before they had to separate, “Tomorrow’s your birthday, right?”

“What?” Patrick blushed, nodding carefully, “I mean, yeah. How’d you know?”

“Looked at the record. We share the same instructor screen.”

“We do?” Joe just shoved him again, “Y-yeah, tomorrow’s my birthday. Why?”

“I got you something.” Joe muttered, wiggling something out of his pockets, “And before you even say it, yeah, it’s illegal. Don’t be a pussy.”

“ _You_ don’t be a pussy,” Patrick muttered, but he still grabbed the roughly wrapped square in Joe’s hand.

“Joe,” He said carefully when the newspaper was off and the music player was in his hands, a pair of roughed up but functional earbuds wrapped around it.

“Do you like it? I downloaded all of my songs onto it so you would have them, too, and a few new albums I thought you’d like.”

“Joe, I…” Patrick sniffed, tried to stop his eyes from watering. He hadn’t had a friend before, not one in his life. The closest he’d gotten to was Ash and she had long disappeared from his life. He’d been so alone for so long and Joe had changed that, “You...”

“Me,” Joe smirked, all cocky swagger and fourteen year old pride, “You like it, P-Stump?”

“I love it.” Patrick sniffed again, twisted around to hug him tight and hide his face.

“Hey, hey!” Joe laughed, shoving at him playfully. Patrick laughed too but it was a little more watery.

“You’re my best friend.” Patrick stuttered quietly, wiping his eyes when Joe had succeeded in shoving him off. Joe just rolled his eyes, but he adjusted Patrick’s glasses for him with a smirk.

“You’re mine too, Stumpy. Now get goin’, you’re almost late.”

“Shit,” Patrick cursed, punched Joe’s shoulder and stuffed the music player as deep into his pocket as he could before he ran out to class.

The next day, he didn’t have class so he didn’t get to see Joe, but he still felt happy. No one had ever recognized his birthday before, he himself only knew it because it was on all of his forms and his ID, but _Joe_ had bothered to learn it and celebrate Patrick’s existence. The music player was safely tucked in, with his guitar. He’d get it out and go through it later, when his father had passed out.

Dinner was silent again, awkwardness and scraping plates. Patrick’s food had, slowly over the years, been moved to simple bread and water affairs, with the occasional fruit or vegetable if it was raw or prepared at home thrown in. His father always ate the same thing, a thick slice of desert bread and a bottle of water. Patrick couldn’t complain though, because the meal had the minimum BL drugs in it and it only left him fuzzy for an hour or so in the morning instead of the whole day like it usually did for people who ate the canned foods. BL didn’t drug desert bread, it was too tough and hard, and the _medicine_ would have left an unpleasant aftertaste in the water. If it was detectible, BL would rather just not drug it at all.

“Patrick,” His father said, once both their plates were empty and Patrick had stood to dispose of the dishes, “I have a...something. I have something for you. For your…”

Celebrating birthdays was illegal and Patrick had never once in his life seen his father go against Better Living, but when his father stood and motioned for him to follow him to his study, Patrick did. He set in the chair his father motioned to and watched as he dug a key from his pocket and unlocked a keyhole in the wall. What had once been a flat space pushed inwards and slid into the wall, revealing the face of a safe. His father keyed in a code and set his thumb to be scanned before he finally pulled the box open and reached in.

“This,” He said haltingly, the same way he always spoke to Patrick. Somehow, this was different though. His voice was softer, pained and sad but fond. The way he sounded when he was so drunk he was barely awake and Patrick risked asking about his mother.

“This is Ariel,” His father finally continued, placing a single, square picture on the desk between them. In the picture was a woman with red hair like his, with eyes as blue as his own. He looked like his mother. Patrick had her face.

“I,” He tried, not quite sure what to do with the torrent of emotion in him, “I don’t,”

“You look...so much like her.” His father said carefully, like if he wasn’t slow and precise then he would shatter to pieces right in front of Patrick, “Every day, I notice something new in you that was in her too. Your smile, your laugh. Your personality. You’re calmer, like me. She was a firecracker. A real…” He cleared his throat, rubbing his eyes, “A real go-getter. She would have...loved you, so much. She named you after her brother. Died in the Helium Wars, he did. They were close, but he was older. You know,” he shrugged a little, like Patrick had gotten bored of hearing a story of the uncle he hadn’t even known he had. This was the first time he was seeing his mother’s face in his life. _His_ face in her.

“You’re fourteen today. She died fourteen years ago, and even though she’s gone, I feel her over my shoulder. Telling me all of the things I’ve done wrong. And I’ve done so many things wrong, Patrick. So _many_ things.”

“I,” Patrick tried again, just to see if he could make _something_ come out that wasn’t the embarrassing sobbing noises he wanted to make.

“I know,” His father continued, “I know I’ve not been the best. I know. I know I’ve not even been very _good_ ,” He cleared his throat, “The time I’ve lost. She’d never forgive me for what I’ve done. But I’ve done it for you, and I think she’d understand that. I hope maybe, one day, you can understand that.”

“Father, I-” Patrick finally got a new word out, though his voice gave out almost immediately, “I don’t know…”

“Just know,” His father continued, like he had to get it out before he lost his steam, “She would have loved you. She did love you, and she would have done _anything_ for you, for me. For her family. I want you to have this. It’s the only...the only picture I have of her, now.”

Patrick nodded quietly, carefully picked up the picture and left, closing the study door behind him. He barely made it to his room before he was crying, sitting on his floor with his back to his door, curled over the delicate picture of the smiling, dead women. Somehow, knowing that his father was doing the same thing made him cry harder.

 

-

 

Listening to music maked Patrick feel...free. It was chaotic, anti-establishment, openly hateful of Better Living like he wished he could be, and rebellious. It was _happy_ , not in the same way that BL showed happiness but in the way Patrick only ever was when he was cramped in a bathroom stall with Joe, listening to long dead men and women scream their anger and hatred at the world and it’s corruption all around them to a steady bassline and crashing drums, raging guitars battling across each other, one earbud in and one ear open for Drac attacks.

“Hey,” Joe said a few weeks later, though this time it was at the beginning of their clandestine meeting, “There’s a show tonight. You in?”

“What,” Patrick aske carefully, because he didn’t quite believe his ears.

“A show,” Joe repeated, “Tonight. You in?”

“A show? Like a...what?”

Joe rolled his eyes, looked over his shoulder at Patrick, “Like a band of musicians, playing their songs live, for a crowd of people who enjoy their music. Are. You. In?”

“I,” Patrick said without thought. He hadn’t snuck out since the blond boy, hadn’t seen those alleys in a long, long time.

“Yeah,” He finally agreed, “Yeah, I’m in. Pick me up?”

“Around two.” Joe agreed, and went back to playing with the music player, finding the next song for them to listen to together.

Patrick was ready at one and snuck out half ‘til, just so he’d be ready when Joe made it. He waited in the familiar alley, touching the peeling paint he still felt like, the oddity he was, until he spotted the familiar hair, growing out dark and curly and _awesome_ ,

“Joe,” He said quietly when his friend was within earshot. Joe stepped into the alley with him and they highfived, a grin matching on their lips.

“Let’s go,” Joe shoved against him and began to walk, fast and excited. Patrick still felt the panic in his stomach, but the promise of music, any kind at all, gave him the strength to shove it away.

Joe led him to a club towards the edge of the city, nearly an hour’s walk from his apartment, and he could hear the fucking _music_ down the street. It was amazing.

Joe dragged him into the building through a literal hole in the wall, like they were sneaking into the basement. Instead, they fell into a mass of bodies, which en mass curled around the two of them and brought them into the fold. It was loud and grimy, crowded with dirty bodies, skinny with hunger but fucking _free_ , if starved and murderously ready to scream with the singer on stage, on his knees and screeching into the microphone. Patrick didn’t really think about it after that. He didn’t dance, not really, but he _felt_ it and his body moved with it. By the time Joe and he dragged each other from the swarm, they were both just as sweaty and grimy as the crowd and they left with barely enough time to get Patrick home before sunrise. Joe’s parents, apparently, didn’t care where he was but Patrick’s dad might flip his lid so they left just as the last band was coming down from their set.

“Fuck, Joe,” He breathed when they were in his alley again, out of breath but not from the walking.

“I know,” Joe agreed giddily, “I fucking know, my man. Shit.”

“I can’t even,” Patrick tried, then shook his head, “Get home, dude. I’ll see you fucking later.”

Joe laughed and they tapped their knuckles together before Joe turned to leave with a quiet, “Shit, man,”

Patrick watched him go fondly until he was out of sight and then pulled his shoes off so he could tiptoe up the stairs back to his apartment.

He unlocked the door with the emergency key and slipped inside as quietly as possible, shutting and locking the door back up before he turned around to make his way from his room.

Instead, he ran into his father.

“Oh, shit,” He breathed, feeling his heart seize up. He was dead. He was literally dead. His father, his father the high level Better Living employee, was going to report him to Better fucking Living and he was going to die for treason. He was going to be dragged down the street by his wrists like the blond boy or worse, he was going to be experimented on and he was going to die in agony.

He searched his head for regret, tried to find the feeling that would make his begging sound more real, but there was none. Even if he died, even at fourteen, he knew he couldn’t regret what he’d done. He finally knew what it was like to _live_. His mother would have been proud of him.

His father just gave him a look, though. It was tired, it was defeated, it was...proud, somehow. Proud enough that, after he’d shuffled off silently to his room and Patrick had showered the mud and sweat from his skin, he was still preening from it.

He and Joe didn’t sneak out again, because Joe mentioned the next day that he’d seen a Drac in the street and the Drac had looked at him a little too knowingly for his taste. But that was okay with Patrick. If he never got to sneak out again, it would still be okay, because he’s gotten to be alive for a few hours and that was all thanks to Joe. Joe continued to bring Patrick more music for his player, still hidden in his room with his guitar and lessons, and really, Patrick couldn’t ask more of him.

Life was strange sometimes. He still checked over his shoulder almost every day, for the Dracs or Vixens or scientists to come and take him away at any moment, but being around Joe, having his music and the picture of his mother...it all kind of made that paranoia worth it.

Patrick was fifteen when everything went to hell, and it started like this.

His father’s car pulled into the school building lot with just a little more speed than usual, but Patrick filed it away and then lost it as he slipped inside and closed the door behind him, mind still on the new album Joe had played for him two hours earlier.

“Patrick,” His father said as soon as he was in the car, voice oddly urgent and fast.

“What?” Patrick froze, a little shocked. His glasses slid down his nose and he hesitated to even push them up, in case there was some strange, unknown poisonous bug on him or something.

“Nothing,” His father said immediately and went silent. Patrick didn’t know quite what to say to that so he just pushed his glasses up and watched the blur of white-white-white as they drove home.

His father didn’t shut himself in his study like he usually did. Instead, he set in the living room and asked for Patrick to sit with him so Patrick grabbed his newest notebook and a pen and set across the living room from his father. When silence was all that passed, he began scribbling little phrases and doodles onto the margins while his father stared at his hands. Nearly an hour passed before he finally spoke up, breaking Patrick from his concentration.

“Patrick,” He said, that same urgent tone from before resurfacing, “Patrick, sometimes things happen. Sometimes, things happen to good people and sometimes they happen to bad people, but they always _happen_ , do you understand?”

“Yess…?” Patrick replied carefully, dragging the _s_ out to show his complete comprehension.

“Good,” His father nodded, looking relieved, “So you need to understand that anything that happens, it isn’t your fault. Do you understand me?”

“What?” Patrick set up from his slouch, notebook forgotten, “What do you mean, what’s going to happen?”

“Nothing, nothing,” His father shook his head, “Nothing you need to worry about. I just want you to know, okay? If something _were_ to happen, not that something _is going to_ happen, but if it _were_ , it _wouldn’t be your fault._ Understand?”

“Y-yeah,” Patrick nodded, feeling his stomach twist nervously, “I, uh, I understand, um, father.”

“Good.” His father nodded, sitting back and looking relieved, “Good.”

Patrick carefully picked up his notebook and went back to doodling. This time, though, his doodling took the shape of a familiar mask, twisted and bloody.

Dinner eventually rolled around but his father demanded that he sit at the table while he prepared a meal, something he’d never really done before. When he was younger, he used to slice the bread at the beginning of the week but it was still up to Patrick to pick his piece, but this time was a little different. His father poured a glass of water for him, brought him a plate of bread and, for some reason, a small piece of chocolate.

“Dad,” Patrick broke a little, voice growing nervous as his father set across from him, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” His father said simply, “I just. I’m sorry, for a lot of things, Patrick. But there are some things that I just can’t be sorry for. You’re one of those things.”

“Dad,” Patrick tried again, but his father just shook his head and began to eat his own bread, looking for all the world like it was any other night. Patrick gave up and ate, saving the chocolate for last so he could enjoy it. It still tasted just slightly of sawdust on his tongue, nerves as fucked as they are, but he didn’t complain.

There was a knock against the door, polite and soft nearly as soon as dinner was over and Patrick’s father had put the dishes away.

“I’ll get it,” Patrick offered, but his father’s face had gone pale and before Patrick could ask the door was splintered open with a great crash and the windows of the living room were broken open. Dracs streamed in, Vixens intermingled between them and Patrick’s vision went dark, back to that night and he was ten years old again, they’re just murdering every single thing in their reach and they’re coming for him, they’re coming to kill him - and then his father was screaming. Rays were being shot and blood were fucking _everywhere_ in his previously white home, His father had a ray gun too, what the fuck, what the everyloving fuck, his father had a fucking _ray gun_ , Patrick hit the door to his room so fast he couldn’t even remember running. He knew he had his father’s shirt in his hand though and the weight he was pulling meant that his father was attached to the shirt still, so he didn’t hesitate to shove them both into the safety of his windowless room and barricade the door with anything he could throw in front of it. There were more shots being fired, except it didn’t sound like they were firing at his door. It sounded like they were firing at each other, not that Patrick gave a shit. He hoped they all shot each other dead.

“Patrick,” His father gasped out from behind him. Patrick whirled around, out of breath, terrified.

“Dad,” started, only to stop up short because his room was stained red, bloody and dying.

“No.”

“Patrick,” His father reached fro him, hands stained red from the wound openly pulsing blood from his stomach and chest.

“Dad,” Patrick dropped next to him, gripped his hand tight in his own, pulled his head into his lap to try and stop the bleeding, “Oh _shit_ , oh _shit_ , you’ve been _shot_ , you’re _bleeding_ ,”

He let go of his hand to grab the nearest clothe he could get to, his bedsheet, and roll it up so he could press it to the wound, but his father was shaking his head at him, like it was useless, but it wasn’t useless, it was all Patrick could do, it couldn’t be useless because it was useless it meant his father was-

“You’re dying,” He snapped, shoving the pushing hands away, “You’re dying, stop fighting me and _let me save you_ ,”

“Patrick,” his father coughed, blood slipping and sliding over his lips, down his throat and cheeks, staining his teeth, “Patrick, I’m already dead. You can’t…”

“I can,” Patrick snapped, though his voice gave out half way, “I _can_!”

“L-listen, Patrick, listen…” his dad gasped, arching a little before his body seemed to give out, “I gotta…”

He was bleeding all over Patrick, staining him red with his blood, bleeding onto him, out onto the floor, everywhere, so much _fucking blood_ Patrick didn’t know you could have so much _in you_ ,

“Patrick,” his father touched his face, leaving behind wet, blood, red, so much red, “Listen to me, I need to...I gotta tell you...Ariel...Ariel, fuck, Ariel loved you so...much, I...I loved you so...so much...shit.”

He rolled out of Patrick’s lap suddenly, and before Patrick could stop him he was using his blood as a way to fucking _ease his passage_ across the tile, until he could reach under Patrick’s bed and pull out the small box he kept his most important things in, like the music player and the picture of Ariel. He reached in, pulled out the music player and rolled back over onto his back so Patrick could scramble over and pull his head into his lap and brush the blood matted hair from his head, “Here, this...important...so important.”

“I-I know,” Patrick nodded, “It’s important, but-”

“No…” His father shook his head, coughing again. Patrick felt blood splatter across his chest and he almost lost his nerves and fainted, just died with his dad, “So...’mpor’nt….Ariel...I...love you...Pat.ri..ck…”

“Dad, dad, don’t, don’t,” Patrick shouted, shoving the music player away so he could use both hands to shake his father hard, try to wake him up, “You can’t pass out, you can’t, you won’t wake up, please, please,”

His dad didn’t move, not an eye, not his lips, not a finger, not his chest. He went still. Blood moved though. Blood continued to slide from under the matted blanket, cover Patrick until he gave up and leaned down, pressed his face to his father’s bloody chest and screamed as loud as he could, for the blond haired boy, for the city to save him, for his dad to come back, for anything that would listen.

His door burst open.

His father was dead, the ray gun was God knows where. Patrick wasn’t really sure he’d save himself anyway.

“Patrick Stump,” A voice said, loud and male but not how he’d imagined a Drac to sound. It was emotional, big and open. Sad.

He looked up carefully. His face didn’t feel wet. He didn’t feel much of anything, but he knew his face must have been covered in blood. He wasn’t sure he cared. He wasn’t sure of anything.

The man who had flailed through his badly barricaded door was probably a little taller than Patrick, tanned and tattooed all to hell with dark hair and a big mouth set in a grim line.

“Patrick,” He tried again, to which Patrick finally nodded, “Patrick, I’m Pete. I’m here to save...you.”

“I…” Patrick tried to say, “My father’s dead.”

“I understand,” Pete nodded, “I’m gonna need you to come with me. Can you do that?”

Patrick flinched when Pete threw his arm out to the side, but the shadow that had been coming through the door flinched back so Patrick wasn’t quite sure what had just happened.

“Can I...what?”

“Can you come with me?” Pete asked again, Pete was his name. He’d come to...save Patrick.

“Okay. Did you come because I prayed for you?” Patrick asked slowly, feeling the words form on his lips from far away.

“Yes, I did,” Pete smiled, wide and careful. Patrick wanted to cry. Patrick probably was crying.

“Do you have anything important you need to take with you?”

“That.” Patrick said immediately, pointing at the music player, “That’s important. That’s really important. Can I take that?”

“Yes,” Pete agreed immediately, “Do you want me to pick it up for you?”

“Yes.” Patrick shook his head, “No,” He nodded. Finally he shrugged, so Pete knelt down and picked up the bloody music player, slipped it into his pocket.

“Is that all?”

“My...my mom,” Patrick finally decided and picked up the box with her in it.

“Anything else?” Pete asked again, the smile that made Patrick cry still on his face. Patrick just nodded and cried. Pete reached out and Patrick reached back. He wasn’t the blond boy or the city, but he had saved Patrick. Patrick removed his father from his lap carefully, red fingers brushing against a red face before he was lead out of the room.

Joe and a stranger with a serious face and a piercing were by his side as soon as he was out of the room but he didn’t question it. He didn’t question a single thing, just held onto Pete’s hand tighter and tried to breathe through the red and the white, like demented peppermint.

 

-

 

Patrick woke up from the nightmare with a gasping lurch. He rubbed his face, took a deep breath. He’d have to tell Joe about it, see if he’d read anything in one of his crazy books about the bloody murder of one’s father by their corrupt government in one’s dreams. First, he needed to piss.

He reached out for his glasses, yawning, except when his hand touched where his bedside table should have been, there was nothing. His stomach sank.

“Um,” He said out loud and carefully felt around under his hand came into contact with a wall. He stretched his fingers wide and felt along it until he reached an alcove, where his glasses finally made themselves known.

When he put the on his face, a slight red smudge in the corner made his stomach roll and the next thing he knew he was throwing up into the bucket that had been ready at the bedside and there was a loud snort as someone who had been previously sleeping woke up.

“Patrick,” Joe’s voice called his name and there was a familiar, comforting hand on Patrick’s neck, soothing him until his stomach was empty and he was dry heaving into the bucket. Eventually, his body gave up and he was able to wipe his mouth on the rag Joe handed him and lay back down, feeling empty and hopeless.

“So,” He finally said into the quiet of the room. Joe set on the bed next to him, squeezing one of his hands while he waited for Patrick to finished, “So, um...where am I? Why are you here? Did they…”

“You’re safe," Joe started with, “And I know this is gonna same a little...overwhelming to you,”

“Overwhelming?” Patrick laughed a little, weakly touching his face, “Joe, my father was murdered right in front of me. I can still feel his last fucking breath under my palms, I don’t know-”

“I understand,” Joe squeezed his hand. Oddly, it did make Patrick feel just a small bit better.

“I understand, and you will have time to grieve. But I just want you to know that _you’re safe_ , okay? You’re in what I consider to be the safest place in all of Bat City. This is my home, these are my people. No matter what you see, you won’t be hurt.”

Patrick didn’t know what to say to that but it was making his eyes ache, making his throat tight and his chest hurt, so he just nodded carefully. When Joe hugged him hard, Patrick didn’t shove away or push closer. He just went limp. Joe didn’t say anything about the wet patches on his clothes when they finally broke apart and he didn’t leave when Patrick laid back down and ignored the world for a little while longer. Just until he was ready to face what was happening.

 

-

 

“Will you tell me what happened?” He asked what felt like minutes, but was probably hours, later. He’d probably slept, though he didn’t feel it, and when he’d opened his eyes, Joe had still been there. Patrick wasn’t feeling much this time around, not the panic or fear from the time before, but a deep, unnatural calm. They’d probably drugged him. He’d woken up to soft music playing but the first words he’d spoken with a clear mind had been, “Please turn that off. I never want to hear fucking _music_ again.”

“What do you remember?” Joe answered after the struggle to decide whether he wanted to reply or not played plainly across his face.

“I remember...being at home. My father and I had just finished eating...the door burst down, the windows broke and then Better Living was just...everywhere…” Patrick recited as it popped into his head. He was careful, looking back with a sense of distance, as if it had happened years and years ago, and to another person. A person close to Patrick, maybe, but not himself.

“My father...was shot. I barricaded us into my room….he died. He died, in my arms. My mother, my music player,” Patrick shot up and then laid back down just as quickly, the blood rushing to his head enough to nearly have him in the trash can again.

“It’s right here,” Joe reached across him to the alcove he’d found his glasses the first time and pulled out both the photo and the player. Both were stained with blood, his father’s, but seemed to be in fine condition otherwise. He tried at first to avoid touching the bloodstains, but the back of his mother’s picture had a handprint colored by brownish red pigment and the music player had perfect fingerprints wrapped around it so he eventually gave up and looked them over carefully before setting them back in the alcove.

“Okay,” Joe seemed to inhale and exhale all in one breath and relaxed to shoulders, like he was sinking into the truth, “Have you heard of the Young Bloods?”

“Who?”

Joe nodded, like he was agreeing to something Patrick had said, before he continued, spreading his hands wide, “The Young Bloods are a rebel faction, man. The most powerful faction in the city. You get my drift?”

“The Young Bloods are a rebel faction, fighting against Better...Living?” Patrick guessed carefully, “Joe, man, I’d love to play ‘guess the game’ but my head is really fucked up.”

“Sorry,” Joe ruffled his ‘fro, “The Young Bloods are fighting BL. They’re one of the oldest and strongest factions, actually. Your...your father was one of their members.”

“What!?” Patrick set up again but Joe caught him by his shoulders before he was completely up and eased him back down, “My father!?”

“Your father.” Joe nodded again, looking serious, “He was...let me tell you a story, my friend. It’s like that one play, I showed it to you a few months ago. Romero and Jules.”

“Romeo and Juliet,” Patrick nodded, “Is it really time for stories though, man?”

“Trust me,” Joe shoved him over and crawled into the bed with him. Patrick made room, feeling a little safer with Joe in the bed with him, though he wouldn’t admit it. “You’ll want to hear it.”

“Yeah, okay, dude. Just tell me your story.”

“Okay, so I’m gonna just tell it like Snoop does. No interruptions. Promise?”

“Promise!” Patrick nodded, carefully this time, “Now tell me.”

“So, once upon a time. Really, it was only like three or four decades ago, but anyway. Once upon a time, there was this fucking badass desert chick, right? She’s raised as a Tumbleweed, living her life between the city and the desert. She always comes home though, to the desert, no matter how long she lives in the city.”

“A Tumbleweed?” Patrick asked, rubbing his face with the hand that hadn’t somehow found its way to Joe’s wrist. Joe didn’t say anything about it, just kept talking.

“A Tumbleweed, my man. It’s like...a trader. They make their way through the wall. A go-between for the desert and Bat City. Get it?”

“Yeah,” Patrick nodded, “Sorry, go on.”

“So she’s fucking amazing, okay? She’s brave and loud and kind and hilarious. She’s got this great life ahead of her, as great a life as one can have in this day and age, at least. And then she meets _him._ ” Joe’s voice deepened, showing how important this _him_ was to this badass desert Tumbleweed’s story.

“The first time she sees him, it’s like...magic. Magic and all the sand and the sunshine in her body just starts to warm under her skin like not even acid rain can burn her. She and _him_ , they start seeing each other, as best they can when she’s a desert born Tumbleweed and he’s a city born rebel. Eventually, because kids are just crazy, they marry. Yeezus, he was the leader of the Young Bloods at the time and the highest authority they recognize, he officiated the wedding. They’re just mad about each other. Crazy in love, right?”

“I don’t think this is going to have a happy ending,” Patrick frowned, but Joe just gave him a look and continued.

“And for awhile, they get to be happy,” Joe nodded, “He even goes with her out to the desert sometimes, just to make her happy and stay with her, and she stays for weeks at a time in the city with him while he works. But then, because happiness never lasts, he got a mission from Yeezus. Yeezus never wanted to give it to him, could never have dreamed of sending anyone with strings like him, but it had to be done and no one else could do it. So he said yes. And this badass chick, she just loved him so much. She loved him too much, there was literally no way she could ever imagine not being with him, not after they months they’d had together, so fucking happy. So she went with him. She leaves her friends and her family, she leaves the fucking desert and goes deep, deep undercover. She can never see them or the sand again, but she has _him_ and to her, it was so fucking worth it. I’ve never seen love that strong before,” Joe sniffed, wiping his eyes, “Sorry, this part always gets me.”

Patrick nodded but didn’t say anything. He wondered if his face was as wet as Joe’s. His heart had started sinking in his chest at some point he couldn’t remember and, with it, the feeling in his skin, until he could barely feel the tips of his fingers and toes.

“So, she goes with him. Years pass and he gets higher and higher in the Better Living totem poll, sending information and whatever he can get his hands on while she spies on a more social level, getting buddy buddy with his associates and their wives. Even though her heart and body sing for the warm glow of the sun and the rough sand and she misses her family, she’s...happy. Soon enough, a few years into their mission, he somehow ends up taking a BL pill. One pill and he just loses himself. For months, all he can speak of is propaganda and he sends false information, shit he’d never uttered out loud in his life, not even to mock. And she’s terrified, because she’s got a secret, a four month old one locked away in her body.”

“Oh, no,” Patrick nearly moaned, but Joe just continued, like Patrick hadn’t spoken. Patrick didn’t want to, but he need to hear how it ended.

“But she can’t hide it forever and eventually, she tells him. Those two little words and his whole world snaps back into shape and he’s stone cold sober. He’s sober and he remembers - Better Living isn’t just some business that he works for, it isn’t just some corporation. It wants to take this kid away and experiment on it. He gets back into the game and the next few months are pretty great. She’s happy and so it he, but it’s also not so great because they’d never planned on a kid. The kid wouldn’t be a motorbaby,” before Patrick could ask, Joe was asiding, “A kid born in the desert or taken into the desert,” and then continued his story, “The kid wouldn't be a motorbaby and it wouldn’t be taken away to Australia, where kids are usually taken. They’d have to raise it to be loyal to Better Living until it was old enough to tell the truth. It was so much for a baby to take on. And she gets sick. She doesn’t tell him, because he’d never been so focused and even with a family, she knew it wasn’t up him to decide who lived or died, not even if it was her or their kid.”

“Joe,” Patrick broke in, “Joe, I can’t,”

“Do you want me to stop?” Joe looked at him, seriously looked at him until Patrick closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Finally, the baby came. She birthed it at home, with a nurse Yeezus sent out undercover as well, specifically for this baby. The nurse is kind, thin and long and named Snoop. She went through so much pain, and there was blood everywhere, and the last thing she saw was her baby boy and the love of her life. He always said, Snoop,” Joe cleared his throat, “He always said that the city had changed her, but in that moment, just before she passed, she was that same desert queen again, bold and adventurous. Now, he took it pretty hard, you understand. She’d died and he had no idea what to do with the baby. He couldn’t just give him away, because they weren’t at home. Everyone knew she’d had a baby and he couldn’t just give him to Snoop to be taken away to Australia. So he kept him and raised him.”

“Joe,” Patrick tried not to cry, “Joe, I don’t know what to do,”

“That’s the story,” Joe pressed his hand to Patrick’s forehead and Patrick grasped his wrist with both hands, hid his face in his own arms and used Joe as an anchor for his emotions, “Your dad was very brave, but your mom was even braver. They did their best to ensure you got to live in a free world. I was assigned to watch over you.”

“Y-you’re lik-like my a-age,” Patrick sniffled, trying to get himself back under control.

“Yeah, well,” Joe shrugged, “Yeezus and Pete thought you could get hurt or used as bait or something. You were a pretty rebellious kid, after all. They’d actually been planning to bring you in as another generation of spies, an even deeper cover since you’d actually grown up there, but now that you’ve been discovered, you’re under own protection. His last report said that he’d found it, the key to the whole fucking system, but it was too sensitive to send through their usual route. He said he’d given it to you. That was how he was caught. He gave himself up to get that information. Do you know where it is?”

“No,” Patrick shook his head, “I have no idea. He never talked to me about work or anything like that. I always thought...I’d always thought he was just another drone. It wasn’t until recently that he...he showed me he wasn’t just another Ritalin Rat.”

“We cleaned your whole apartment out. It’s all here, from the trash in the kitchen to the drapery and even carpeting. Once we’ve combed through it, you can have your things back and any of his things that you might want. Sound good?”

“How’d you know we were being attacked?” Patrick asked instead of answering. He couldn't think about his father’s things. It felt too much like accepting his death and Patrick didn’t think he was quite ready to deal with it yet.

“I’ve been watching you,” Joe shrugged, like that was normal, “I was in charge of protecting you. I’ve lived across the street from you for years, man.”

“What?” Patrick blinked, “What?”

“You’re so unobservant.” Joe laughed, “What the hell, man?”

“Shut up,” Patrick couldn’t help but smile, “I had a lot on my mind.”

“You’ll have a lot on your mind, now,” Joe smiled, “You don’t get to stay here for free, if you choose to stick around.”

“If I chose?” Patrick wiped his eyes a final time and made himself stop tearing up.

“Yeah,” Joe grinned, “You’re out of the Better Living system now. I mean, you’re on a ton of their shit lists, but you’re technically off their radar.”

“I think I’ll stick around, then.” Patrick shook his head, “I don’t have the best survival instincts. If I was on my own, I’d probably be dead in a week.”

“Good call,” Joe nodded, “As I said, you’ll be working, though. This is a functioning base, so there are never ending jobs to be done. Think you can handle it?”

“I can handle anything.” Patrick held out his hand and Joe clasped it tight in his own, another grin on his face.

“For what it’s worth,” Joe muttered, “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“Me, too,” Patrick agreed. As much as he agonized over his father, Patrick wasn’t ready to die. Especially not after hearing his mother’s story.

“Let’s go introduce you to everyone. You’ve been sleeping for like two days and everyone is really curious.”

“About me?” Patrick blinked, “Why?”

“We don’t get...let’s just say, Pete’s taken a special interest in you and it’s got his teams in a tizzy, wanting to meet the infamous Patrick.”

“Infamous?” Patrick laughed a little, letting Joe pull him up and push him towards a door.

“Shower, piss, brush your rank teeth and put some clean clothes on. I’ll show you around after.”

“Yes, sir,” Patrick saluted, just to make Joe laugh, and then disappeared into the bathroom to do as told. It wasn’t _clean_ exactly, a little dingy and dim. But it wasn’t _white_ and for the first time, Patrick didn’t have to press his fingers against the back of his eyelids to add a little color to his vision.

 

-

 

“This,” Joe threw his arms out as soon as they entered the bright, large room, “Is the mess hall. YBHQ was converted out of the old tunnel systems. This was originally a store room for large equipment. Like an underground warehouse. Now, we eat here. And socialize, I guess, but there are better places to do that if you’re into it. It’s pretty big down here, but well guarded.”

“Wow,” Patrick breathed, moving to the closest wall to press his hand against it. Bright orange and blue mixed in intricate patterns and shapes to form an obvious picture of a sunrise, though it was abstract. Looking around, the whole room was covered in similar art work, in different styles and patterns and colors. Not an inch of the place was blank, white or otherwise. What must have been at least a hundred people scattered around the room on or at tables, in groups or by themselves, reading or talking, writing or laughing, playing or having serious discussion. The room was so large though, that even with so many people, it looked barren.

“This room can hold up to six hundred. It’s an off time now, too late for most to be awake except those on duty but too early for the more...dedicated to be asleep. I’ll introduce you to my friends, and then tomorrow you can meet people I’m not as familiar with if you’re into that.”

“I’m not,” Patrick laughed, “But I will if you want. Let’s meet your friends.”

“Where is your sense of adventure, P-Stump?” Joe smiled, “Okay, quick run down?”

“Rapid fire,” Patrick nodded, “I’ll try to remember.”

“Pete is like the head honcho, leader man. He’s got two body guards, me and Andy. I split my time between him and you, but obviously until a replacement is given, I’m yours and Andy is full time on Pete. Pete’s second in command position is split between two people; Gabe and Travie. Gabe is head of covert operations, Travie is overt operations. You following?”

“Pete, Andy, Gabe, Travie.” Patrick nodded, “Continue,”

“Okay, Gabe’s team consists of four individuals. There’s Ryland and Alex, Nate and Victoria. There’s another one, but she’s so deep undercover that even Pete doesn’t know her real name, so neither do I. We don’t mention her ever, because they are still a little sore about not being allowed to see or talk to her at all outside of monthly updates. Travie’s team is smaller, only three members. Eric, Disashi, and Matt. Still keeping up?”

“Vaguely,” Patrick nodded again, trying to look determined, “It’ll come back to me.”

“Don’t worry about it if it doesn’t. They’ll cut you some slack,” Joe laughed and began to make his way to one of the larger crowds. It was the table farthest from either door, situated in the corner with both entrances in eyesight. There was an obvious gap where someone would sit with their back nearly against the wall and a full view of the whole room, and to either side of that gap were two men. Both were tall enough to make Patrick uncomfortable, but while one was beanpole skinny with tanned skin and an eye catching scar running from his bared right elbow all the way to just before the corner of his right eye, the other had more muscle and darker skin. His hands were covered in small scars and cuts, as was his neck, and both looked young, a few years older than Patrick, he’d guess. Gabe and Travie. Surrounding them were a few people, who he’d only guess to be their two teams.

“Joe!” The beanpole shot up from where he’d been slumping, a wide grin covering his face.

“Gabe,” Joe offered his fist and Gabe bumped it with his own, “Guys, this is Patrick. Patrick, this is the guys.”

“Hey, guys,” Patrick waved awkwardly. He’d never felt like the new kid before, never having experienced a group to be new _to_ , but he’d heard and read enough from contraband songs and books to know the feeling.

“Hi, Patrick,” The chorused back to him.

“P-Stump, that is Gabe, next to him is Travie.”

Travie waved back just as awkwardly. Patrick thought they could be friends.

“That’s Matt and Disashi. Eric’s sitting on Ryland’s lap. That’s Alex or Suarez, Nate, and Vicky-T.”

“Hel _lo_ , Patrick,” Gabe said as sleazily as Patrick had ever heard anyone speak before in his life.

“Hi,” Patrick nodded again, feeling a little flustered as the heated look.

Travie smacked Gabe’s head and grinned at him, smooth and easy going, “So you’re Patrick. Pete’s Patrick.”

“Pete’s?” Patrick asked, glancing over just in time to see Joe making a ‘cut it out’ gesture at Travie.

“Nevermind,” Gabe said smoothly, “Tell me about yourself, beautiful. We’ve heard about you from Joseph before, I’d _love_ to hear your story from your mouth.”

“It’s not really…” Patrick tried to stall, not quite knowing if the queasy feeling in his gut was the smell of food, the new faces or the thought of talking about his father to strangers or some mix of all three.

“To soon,” Joe cut in quietly, though, saving him, and Gabe settled back with an easier smile, the sleaze of before gone. Patrick gave Joe a grateful look and carefully set where he was pointed to. The girl, Vicky, smiled at him and he felt his face flush. He’d never really spoken to a _girl_ before, Ash didn’t really count in his head, and while he’d never really been _attracted_ to one, it was still a little strange.

“Patrick’s gonna be staying with us.” Joe said as he shoved Disashi over so he could settle into the small vacancy Disashi gave him, “Any jobs you guys had in mind for him?”

“Educated?” Eric asked, and Patrick nodded.

“Um, I’m pretty good at grammar and stuff,” He offered, “I remember facts pretty well...I can do basic math and a little advanced algebra...mostly stuff from books Joe let me borrow for awhile so I could teach myself.”

“That’s pretty good,” Travie commented, “Not many of us got the chance to be educated. You could get a pretty penny or two teaching a few, maybe help the teachers out. Andy could use an assistant and that would make Joe and Andy’s job a little easier. We got a new load of motorbabies and the last load was just moved a few weeks ago so they’ll be with us for about a month, maybe two. Plenty of time to teach them basic letters.”

“Anything I can do,” Patrick clenched his fists in his lap and looked at the table, thinking back to Ash. She’d loved when he read her bites and pieces from his trips around the city, “I want to help however I can. I can teach, or help Andy or-or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Ryland laughed, “You’ll regret saying that. Nate will have you on kitchen duty every night with that attitude.”

“Do they need help?” Patrick asked, “I don’t mind, really,”

“Nonsense!” Alex waved his hand, “Don’t worry your pretty red head, Pat-a-rick, you’ll be busy until you’ve got your rhythm down. Nate can’t steal you until you’re all out of steam, that wouldn’t be fair. He’s got his pick of the soldiers.”

“You fuddy-duddy,” Nate stuck his tongue out at Alex, though he was smiling, “Maybe he _likes_ kitchen work.”

Patrick laughed a little, covering his mouth to hide his smile. The table erupted and he watch them all. Even without names, he’d be able to tell who was in whose team just by scars and how they held themselves. Ryland and Alex had matching scars, though on either sides of their faces. Ryland’s left cheek had been brutally ripped open at one point and he had a scar over his left eye, while the exact wounds were also on Alex, though on his right side. It left their faces disfigured but the scars couldn’t ruin their smiles and it, more than even the way they’d centered themselves around each other, gave away their closeness. To Patrick, the scares almost looked like they belonged. Nate’s neck and lower jaw were pockmarked and whipped until the skin almost looked like flayed meat and neatly bisecting his face horizontally was a long, thin scar, from earlobe to earlobe. Vicky’s scarring was possibly the worst, the whole left side of her face having been scratched and bitten (Patrick was reasonably sure they’d all been attacked by Cobra bots, one of Better Living’s now-defunct android bodyguard series’, judging by Gabe’s near constant referencing to _The Cobra_ ) to the point that her mouth curved into a near constant scowl, unless she laughed. Her face looked _happy_ when she laughed. Matt, Eric and Disashi had similar scars to Travie, small nicks and white lines along their fingers and even their noses, chins and foreheads. Gabe’s team, though louder, took up less space and seemed to blend, confident but not overpowering their quieter company, while Travie’s team took up the space they wanted and set quietly with a few comments thrown in, comfortable in their place without needing to throw themselves into the middle of things. It seemed almost the opposite of what they’d need to do to accomplish their goals but Patrick could see how it worked for them.

It wasn’t until Patrick’s eyes had started fluttering that he realized just how tired he was.

“Hey, guys,” Joe interrupted, “I think Patrick and I are gonna head out. It’s been a long day for him.”

“Yeah,” Vicky nodded, grinning at them, “Take him to bed then. We’ll see you both tomorrow?”

“You got it,” Joe agreed, “Ready, Patrick?”

“Ready,” Patrick yawned and stood, let Joe help him out and into the main floor again.

“Bye, Patrick!” The table threw back at them as they walked away. Patrick tried to keep the smile off his face. Maybe he’d made a good impression on them, but he’d yet to meet Andy (Who Ryland had said was the one to watch out for, above all others) and this mysterious Pete Wentz, who saved him, lead a powerful rebel faction and hadn’t shown his face once in the three hours Joe and Patrick set with the others.

 

-

 

Patrick woke up to a different figure at his side the next morning. He’d expected Joe when his eyes opened, but he’d noticed the lack of curly, dark hair before anything and that was what sent his heart racing. He set up quickly and scrambled away, shoving against the wall and holding a hand out to stop the attacker in any way he could, feeling his chest lock up. The Dracs had gotten in, somehow, they’d followed him, they were back and they’d come to finish the job, to kill him, to-

“Patrick!” The person cried, and the vaguely familiar voice shot through his nerves. His vision cleared enough for him to finally see the person in front of him. They hadn’t moved from the chair or tried to touch or approach him and he appreciated the space they’d given him while he tried to focus his eyes.

Eventually, he’d calmed down enough to grab at his glasses with shaky hands and shove them onto his face. It didn’t help too much, but it helped enough and he was able to get his breathing under control after a few moments of assessment.

“Victoria,” He finally recognized, “I’m so sorry, I-” He started, embarrassed, but she waved him off.

“It’s okay.” She smiled, a gentle tip of one side of her lips, the other side an angry scowl, “We’ve all been there. Most of us are still there.”

Patrick didn’t know what to say to that so he just smiled awkwardly and began uncrumpling his body from the ball he’d somehow twisted himself into.

“It’s been awhile,” She said after a few moments of quiet. It hadn’t been uncomfortable and her voice didn’t sound like she was trying to fill the silence, just that she had something she wanted to talk about and didn’t want to wait much longer.

“Awhile?” he looked around for a clock and finally found one embedded into the back wall of the alcove, “It’s only been a few hours. Unless I slept straight through a whole day?” He asked, feeling a little panicky. A whole fucking day, no way had he slept that much.

“No,” She laughed, leaning back in her chair, the one Joe usually sat it, “You don’t recognize me? I guess that isn’t weird. I look...a little different,” She waved to the scarred part of her face, “from when I was a kid.”

“A kid? Did we…” Patrick frowned at her, thinking carefully. Had she been someone under cover in Better Living, like Joe?

“I went by a different name, too. Before Gabe found me.” She smiled again, and something sparked in Patrick’s memory.

“No way,” He tried, but she just laughed and her whole mouth fit into the smile, the smile he hadn’t seen in so many years.

“So you didn’t forget me!” She offered her hand and Patrick clasped it tightly, shaking his head.

“How could I forget you, Ash?” He asked quietly, feeling his heart constrict. He’d always wondered just what had happened to her, after he’d left.

“The rest of your crew,” He asked quietly, stopping when she shook her head.

“We were attacked by Cobra bots,” She bit her lip, “I lived, obviously. My youngest at the time, Hayley, and another of mine, Greta, they escaped with me. The others…” She didn’t continue and Patrick could fill in the blanks himself.

“I’m so sorry.” He squeezed her hand again, fighting back tears. It hadn’t been that many years, but Ash-Victoria, she’d been a part of a different life for him. A part he’d thought had been dragged to its death with that blond boy in the street. Seeing her again, it was almost like a sudden force against his lungs when they weren’t working, it fucking _hurt_ but it made him _feel_ again, something he hadn’t realized he’d forgotten to do since he’d gotten to this place.

“It’s okay,” Vicky smiled, “I mean, not really, but at least we three are alive. And you. I didn’t think we’d ever meet again.”

“Me neither,” He nodded, “I thought for sure they’d come for me that night. I didn’t want to endanger you guys anymore than I already had, having to lead me back home like you did.”

“Shut up, you saved our lives so many times, Patrick.” She said firmly, “We would have starved without you,”

“I barely brought enough for all of you to eat once,” He argued, “I should have brought more. Now that I know who my father was...he wouldn’t have cared.”

“None of us knew,” She shook her head, “Not until you did, Patrick. And sometimes...sometimes, a single meal is all it takes to save someone. You brought so many kids back from the brink, Patrick. I was able to hand them off to be saved. My last crew...yeah, I lost them. But I saved tens of kids, Patrick, and they were able to eat because of you. They got to see that there was still good in the world, that kids our age could still save someone. You were like a hero to them, Patrick. I never got to thank you for that.”

“Ash,” He said weakly, feeling a little overwhelmed. He’d not set out to be a _hero_ to anyone. His actions hadn’t ever been because he wanted to be a _hero_ , “I’m not a hero, Ash. I just…”

“You saw us starving,” Vicky smiled again and even the scar marks on her face, as fearsome as they had once looked to him, were suddenly a part of her that he couldn’t even imagine her without, “And you did something about it. That’s all a hero _is_ , Patrick. But that isn’t what I came to talk to you about.”

“You had a reason?”

“Other than wanting to see if you remembered me, yes,” She nodded, “There’s something I think you should know. Joe won’t talk about it, and neither will Gabe or Travie, let alone Andy. But it’s something I think you need to know.”

“What?” He set up again, pulled his blanket around his shoulders like a security line and settled into his bed like it was a dugout.

“Pete,” She started, then seemed to change her mind and started again, “Pete isn’t a bad man, and neither is…” She stopped again and set back, like she was rethinking herself again.

“Ash?” He asked carefully, half wondering if he even wanted to know.

“Listen,” She finally settle on, leaning forward and lowering her voice, like even in the strongest of the strongholds in Battery city, her words still weren’t sae, “Pete is...different. You’ll hear a lot of shit, walking around these walls, but not everything you hear is truth. In the same way, not everything you hear is _untrue_ , either. I can’t tell you anymore, Gabe’s forbidden it and not even I would go against a rule _Gabe_ set, but I just want you to know you’re _safe_ here, and you’re safe with Pete. As long as _Pete_ is with you, you won’t be hurt.”

“What are you saying,” He got out, trying to calm his breathing down. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he’d ever be able to have a stressful conversation again without nearly breathing his lungs out, if he’d ever be able to hear the words, _“Listen, Patrick,”_ and not feel icy fear grip his neck and drip down his spine

“I’m saying,” She leaned back again and it got less intense, made his chest feel a little looser, “I’m just saying, not everything you hear is truth, but sometimes you need to take the gist of the shit you hear, not the _exact words_ , but the _meaning_ behind them, and heed it. Understand?”

“No,” Patrick shook his head, “But give me a little bit. I’m pretty slow.”

She laughed and stood up, offering her hand, “I missed you, Patrick. We’ll see a lot more of each other.”

“We will, Ash.” He agreed, “I really hope we will.”

“And I don’t have to remind you to keep this conversation our little secret, right?”

“It never happened,” Patrick agreed, “Bye, Ash.”

“Bye, Pat-a-rick. Joe will be back in a few minutes, why don’t you go back to sleep?”

“Yeah,” Patrick nodded, “Thank might be or the best.”

She shut the door, he shut his eyes and the nightmares he had that time were a little less intense than the time before. Weirdly, it was filled with the strange shadow of the man who rescued him in his memory instead of the Dracs and Vixens of the times before.

 

-

 

The next people Patrick was introduced to were a _crew_ , an actual desert crew with desert names and hair dyed all different shades and hues. Patrick had never met one before, someone from the desert, but he’d heard of them and not even his frozen nerves could stop him when Joe and Victoria had mentioned that there was a new crew coming in to be settled in the city.

“Patrick,” Gabe still towered over Patrick, but it had stopped being scary about a week earlier and started to become something of a comfort to Patrick. Surrounded by these people who had already beaten Better Living and had saved him already, he felt safer, even with most of them much taller, older, and stronger than him.

“Patrick, you’ve got to meet these guys. “ Gabe said, dragging him over to the group of desert rats.

“Um,” Patrick tried, feeling that now familiar sinking feeling in his stomach. It never went away now, was always there, just bubbling under the surface of his skin and waiting to explode out of him through tears and screaming.

“Hey,” Joe cut in, resting a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. Between them, Joe and Gabe, with Victoria at his back and Gabe’s team no doubt close by, brought the panic back down to a manageable level and Patrick was able to blink the gray spots away from his vision, “Who are these guys, Gabe?”

“Beta bugs,” Gabe laughed, offering a hand for the leader to take. He was a muscled guy, intimidating if not for the wide, easy going grin on his tanned face and the bright green of his greasy hair.

“Reggie,” He introduced himself, “These are my Effects.” he motioned to the few men and women behind him, all of whom waved a little before they went back to their own conversations. They all looked at ease in the new surroundings, so maybe they were usual guests? Or had been in the city before? Patrick could only really guess, so he shook Reggie’s and and let Joe introduce him.

“I’m Joe, this is Patrick. What are you guys doin’ in our neck of the corrupt world government?”

Reggie laughed and shrugged, “Wanted to see if the grass was greener, really. Just left a shitty crew, started my own, figured I’d do more good in here than out there. Too much drama.”

Patrick nodded, feeling a little like he knew where Reggie was coming from, “So you’re going to be staying here?”

“Nah,” Reggie shook his head, motioning to Gabe, “This beanpole here is going to show us the ropes a little and send us on our merry way. Not here to step on any toes and all that, but my crew and I, we work better alone. The YB just has the best City Introduction Program.”

“Understandable,” Joe laughed, “Why don’t I show you to Pete’s meeting room and we’ll see what we can do for you.”

“I knew you’d be the place to go,” Reggie laughed, big and friendly. Patrick liked him.

“Can I-” Patrick tried, but Gabe just gave him an amused look and Patrick sighed. Pete had basically ordered his friends not to let he and Patrick cross paths, which had actually hurt Patrick at first, but now just made him want to meet the man all the more. What reason would he have for avoiding Patrick?

“Fine,” Patrick huffed, “I’ll just go on a walk or something,”

“Patrick,” Joe said worriedly, “It isn’t really what you think,”

“It’s fine,” Patrick frowned, crossing his arms defensively.

“What’s wrong?” Reggie asked, looking between Patrick and Joe.

"I've been here for a week and a half and I still haven't met Pete fucking Wentz." Patrick snapped, feeling agitated and irritated to the point where not even Joe and Victoria’s presence could calm his racing heart, “I really need to go, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, I’m just, I really need to go,” He stuttered, his hands tensing into fists and untensing compulsively against his arms, “Shit, I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay,” Joe pointed at a nearby exit, “Down that way is safe, just walk up and down the hall until you’ve calmed down. It’s okay, Patrick,”

“Sorry,” Patrick gasped out again, feeling sweat pooling in his hairline, fall down his temple and send an icy touch down his back. The whole tunnel system was usually cool but right then, he felt like he was melting out of his skin. His lungs were overworking and he needed to be alone and calm down, think it through before he went insane.

“No problem, dude. I have a friend,” Reggie shrugged, like that explained everything.

“It’s okay, Patrick,” Gabe nodded, “Seriously, it’s okay, go.”

Patrick didn’t wait any longer, his steps heavy and echoing with ray gun fire in his ears. He barely made it to the hallway before tears came and the next fifteen minutes were spent on the floor, laying down on his stomach and pressing his burning face to the cold floor to cool his skin. It felt like hours to him, just laying still and trying to calm his racing heart, get a grip on his lungs before they convulsed out of his chest and he passed out right there in the middle of the base.

Eventually his eyes could open and he could see clearly again, or as clearly as he ever could, without little dots of color everywhere. He picked himself up from the floor and wiped at his eyes until the tears were gone. He couldn’t do anything about the raw feeling on his cheeks but ignore it. His face was flushed, from the salty tears and the blood rushing to his face when he’d had trouble breathing and the embarrassment of having flipped out over such a little thing as not having met Pete yet. It was a constant anger in his gut, right at home with the panic, like they were old roommates who had hooked up again and taken residence in his stomach. Sometimes it felt like it was going to consume him and he’d never escape it, until it suddenly went out and he was left empty for a few hours before it returned. He knew he needed to go find Joe, tell him he was okay and maybe apologize to Reggie for snapping and having one of his episodes in front of him, and probably Gabe too because the last thing he wanted to do was piss off one of his protectors.

Instead, he turned the opposite corner and continued walking. He really should have stayed in the hallway Joe had okayed for him but he’d never been a good decision maker when he was upset and he’d not had a chance to really explore the base yet. Maybe walking around would calm him down. Really, with all of this shit just nesting in him, he doubted any Drac would _want_ to attack him. He’d probably just blow up and take the whole city with him.

When he came back to himself, he’d lost his position a little bit. The hallways were still familiar, he’d be able to find his way back to the mess, but it would take a few minutes. How long had he been walking? And when would Joe send a panicked search party after him?

“Shit,” He rubbed at his face, finally feeling like he’d fallen back into his normal range of emotions, or at least the new normal, “Shit, I need to turn around.”

He did so with a feeling of ‘I’m in so much trouble,’ because the second Joe found him, he was in for an earful. He’d only snuck away once before for long enough that Joe had found out about it and he hadn’t been out of Joe’s sight for nearly two days afterwards. This was the first time he’d been able to sneak away since and Joe would not be happy, let alone the party he’d have pulled together to go hunting for him.

He walked slowly, because he was already in trouble and he really did want to notice the base around him if he’d be living there for the foreseeable future.

The walls were never white, no matter where he went. Even if it was an off gray or a mucky brown, it was like the Young Blood faction had found every cranny of their homebase and gave it color in some way. In most of the more public places, he could see little clouds of knee high drawings, with wax or paint or whatever the kids - motorbabies - could get their hands on, it seemed. Even underground, there were so many smiling suns that sometimes Patrick could pretend that he was back in the old timey novels, where children could randomly doodle on paper after paper, a never ending stream of _paper_ thicker than the near tissue thin stuff they wrote on with ink instead of lead. In the less traveled regions, the outer tunnels and the tunnels leading to private bunkers and residential areas, the halls were just gray or brown, a mix and match of natural rock and cement from when the tunnels had been casted and hollowed out for use years and years ago.

Now, the only people who would be down these hallways, leading from the mess hall to the soldiers’ barracks, were the soldiers themselves, so Patrick wasn’t too surprised when he heard voices echoing from the closest checkpoint Joe had pointed out last time they’d gone through there.

“...see Wentz prowling up and down the halls a little bit ago?” One of the men was saying, voice hushed but covered in the universal tone for ‘talking shit’.

“No, I just got on duty, what the fuck’s been happening? He usually walks around by the clinic.” a woman’s voice replied, the universal ‘I missed it, give me the up-and-up.’

“That kid, Stump, he ran off and had a freak out down by mess,” The man grumbled. Patrick stepped closer, feeling his cheeks reheat and the panic bubble in his stomach. Had the whole base heard about that already?

“Apparently, Joe went and told Wentz and Wentz headed the search party himself. He’s been missing for two hours.”

“You don’t think there’s a breach, do you?” The woman asked worriedly, “He got taken or something?”

“Nah,” The man shook his head, which, given that Patrick was eavesdropping on them, was a suitable response, “He’s probably just got turned around in this maze. He’ll show back up. I just thought it was strange, how much Wentz seemed to care. He was coming up and down the tunnels, I saw him at least three times, just looking everywhere for the kid.”

“Did...Did Sandman come out?” The woman’s voice dropped, to the point that Patrick had to struggle hard to hear, even echoing in the tunnel like they’d been before. He’d heard of Sandman before, vaguely and only a few times. The soldiers whispered like he was a monster, this Sandman. Like Pete had some _thing_ living in him, something that only came out as a murderous, black-eyed beast. According to the soldiers, he was ruthless, possibly to the point of maleficence, and too dangerous for anyone outside of his immediate circle - the strongest of the Young Blood faction - to handle.

Some called him insane, but they called themselves even worse for being so loyal to him, Pete or Sandman or whoever they mixed into. Patrick’s father had been loyal to this Sandman, enough to spend his life helping him.

“Maybe,” The man admitted, “I’m not sure. I couldn’t see his eyes, just...What do you think’s so special about this kid?”

“What, Stump?” The woman sounded almost disinterested, like she didn’t quite know but didn’t quite care enough to snoop around to find out, “Probably something Yeezus told him. His father was Edward Stump, so maybe he thinks the kid’s got something from his dad, some key.”

“That’ be great,” The man sighed, “The perfect information to end Better Living. If only.”

“Do you think, since he was out all day, Wentz’ll be up and down the hallways again, tonight?”

“He does it every night,” The man sounded thoughtful. Patrick almost wanted to lean over and look at them, to see if they were so used to their leader turning into a crazy, black-eyed monster and walk up and down the halls all night that it wasn’t even deemed good gossip, “So probably. I think it’s Sandman’s own way of patrolling. But I don’t know, it isn’t like I know him personally. I just don’t want to run into him tonight, that’s for sure. Not if he’s pissed over this kid’s disappearance.”

 _Shit_ , Patrick thought, _I really do need to get back._

He turned away from them, thought better of it, and turned back.

“Hey,” he called, turning the corner to finally get a look at the soldiers, smiling awkwardly, “Um, could you take me back to the mess? I’ve gotten all turned around.”

Maybe showing up with two guards leading him would look better for his ‘got lost in my daze’ story.

 

-

 

Joe was pissed. Joe was _so_ pissed with Patrick, but, luckily, not _at_ Patrick, because the guards were a good call on Patrick’s part. He’d caught a glimpse of tan skin and dark hair leaving as he was coming in, too, which had been...fortifying. If Pete really _had_ been in the search party, it meant he didn’t _hate_ Patrick, at least.

He hadn’t followed him, because Patrick had a new plan. One he was sure would work. Hopefully.

“Patrick Stump,” Joe said sternly as soon as they’d returned to Patrick’s room. He’d already apologized to Reggie again but Gabe hadn’t been around yesterday or all of that day, so Patrick would probably seek him out tomorrow. Not apologizing had begun to eat away at him underneath the excitement of his new plan and the last thing Patrick wanted to feel while he was talking to Pete Wentz for the first time since his rescue was anxiety over something completely different.

“Patrick Stump, I have patrol tonight. I have patrol tonight with Victoria and I am going to trust you tonight, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Joe.” Patrick nodded patiently, lying straight through his teeth, “I won’t leave my room tonight. While you’re on patrol, I will stay in here and read.”

“Yes,” Joe said grimly, “Yes, you will. I have a guard on duty if you need them, just press this button and they’ll be here, okay? They’re new, this is their first mission on their own, but I trust all of them.”

“I will,” Patrick smile, feeling warmed by Joe’s concern, “I won’t cause any trouble. Not on purpose, anyway.”

“God damn it, Patrick. You’re going to give me a heartattack.” Joe shoved at Patrick’s face playfully, the grim look from before replaced with a ‘why do I even put up with you’ smile, “You’re going to sneak out as soon as I’m gone.”

“Sorry, man.” Patrick agreed quietly, sitting on his bed, “I’ll be really careful.”

“Whatever,” Joe set next to him and they set together in silence for a few minutes, just breathing and being for an instant in time.

Patrick didn’t think about it often, but he felt it almost constantly, how much Joe had saved him. If it hadn’t been for him, Patrick would probably have died a lot sooner in his childhood than he’d made it. Joe had introduced him to so many things he loved, had saved him when he needed it and had spent years of his life protecting Patrick night and day. He did so much for Patrick, catered to his weird panics and his random freak outs, never questioned Patrick when Patrick was flipping his lid and always stood nearby, tall and steady for Patrick to lean against. Patrick felt bad that he caused Joe so much trouble, couldn’t see what he gave Joe that equaled out to what Joe gave him, but Patrick had never called himself a selfless person. As he’d told Ash, he was no hero.

“Hey,” He muttered, shoving his shoulder against Joe’s and then sort of leaving it there, “I fucking love you, man. I don’t think I’ve told you that.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Joe shoved back, not hard enough to dislodge Patrick, but enough to get his own leaning space, “You don’t have to say it out loud, you sap.”

“Shut up.” Patrick smiled, “I just wanted you to now. Now get the fuck out and go patrol. When do I get to start patrolling?”

“When you can fight Beyoncé without dying for ten minutes,” Joe laughed, “Same as everyone else who fights for us. Get the fuck to sleep if you’re going to be out all night.”

“Just for an hour or two,” Patrick defended. Nevertheless, he did shove his pants off and slide into bed as Joe went to his door and set the lock to pad up from the inside after he left.

“See you later, dude,” Joe waved and then was gone, the door shutting behind him and clicking with the lock.

Patrick closed his eyes and let his body rest.

When he next opened his eyes, the clock showed ‘03:24’.

“Okay,” He breathed out to himself, ready for his pep talk, “You’re going to go find him. So what if this Sandman guy is crazy and Pete’s been avoiding you since you came here? None of that matters. He saved your life, and he saved Dad’s body so we could put him to rest properly.”

Still, he didn’t get up for a few more minutes, until the clock was in the late thirties, before he finally rolled out and shoved his pants back on so he could lace his boots up to his calf.

When he left, he was as silent as he could be so he didn’t alert the night guard. The button was safely tucked away in his pants, because he wasn’t completely stupid, and his usual communicator was hooked to his belt so he could get back into his room upon his return but he was otherwise unarmed. Hopefully, Better Living wouldn’t pick tonight of all nights to stage a raid.

The lady had said that Pete usually stalked the tunnels of the clinic, Sandman's patrol leading him everywhere in that area, so Patrick started towards where he was reasonably sure Ash had pointed it out. The clinic was home to a team of medical professionals headed by one Snoop Dogg, Snoop for short, who had been the nurse to birth Patrick, according to Joe. Ash had said that Hayley and Greta were both working there as well, as nurses on their off time. The training regiment of the YB faction hadn’t made sense the first time Patrick had had it explained to him but, thinking back, it really did use the people involved to their fullest. Once one had entered into the faction, they were put through training, starting out simple before gradually being put through more intense training. The final test was being able to survive ten minutes in a ring with Beyoncé, the head trainer (and, according to what Patrick could pry out of Joe, Pete’s surrogate mother). Most spent about a year in training before being upgraded into the normal rotation of soldiers. People under a certain age (sixteen seemed to be the consensus between Joe, Gabe and Travie) weren’t allowed into the training sessions, but had their own, unofficial, sessions, like a pre-requisite to _real_ training. The only ones exempt from that rule were Pete’s bodyguards, Joe and Andy, both of whom were proteges, according to Beyoncé, and any members picked by Travie and Gabe for their teams. Between this training, all members of the faction had jobs and roles within the community they had built underground and under the nose of Better Living. Some worked in the kitchen, some were custodial staff, some even worked in a small market where the faction traded between itself for goods or services. It was like a small, functioning city below the surface and Patrick was almost sad that he hadn’t been allowed to grow up in it like a few of the younger kids who hadn’t been moved on to Australia. There were only two groups of people who didn’t train in combat when they were old enough. The first group were the non-soldiers, who kept everything running while the soldiers were either on missions or resting from them and the second were the medics, who didn’t accept volunteers but rather students who wished to continue when the elder nurses and doctors died. Greta had apparently been adopted under Snoop’s direct guidance and Hayley was training to be part of an elite team of fighters who both assisted the nurses and protected them in battle. Though both were very young, Victoria seemed to have the utmost faith in them and Patrick hadn’t met them yet but he was looking forward to it.

For now, though, he would focus on just meeting Pete Wentz. Anyone else would have to wait.

Except where the fuck was he?

“Oh, shit.” He breathed out as quietly as he could, not able to hold the expletive back but not wanting to let his voice echo. Oh, holy _shit_ , he wasn’t where he was meant to be. He didn’t have a clue where he was. The previously well cared for walls weren’t so in this part of the tunnels, wherever the fuck he’d managed to lead himself. Every few feet, some rock or leaking pipe jutted out of the ceiling or wall, rubble and dust shoved into rough piles along the sides of the passage. Only two of five lighting fixtures along the ceiling seemed to be working. Patrick felt for the button and gripped it tight, feeling his throat getting tighter. Specks of white had begun to show themselves amongst the dirty walls.

“I just have to press the button,” he breathed out carefully, “I just have to press the button. But if I press the button, I’ll be taken back and probably locked away and I’ll get in so much trouble and I’ll never get the chance to find Pete again, fuck,”

Okay, okay, pros and cons. His dad had always said that when there was a conflict, he just needed to weigh the pros and cons.

“Cons;” He stopped when he saw that, really, there was more white on the walls than there was any color. Instead of continuing forward and turning the only corner in sight, he leaned his back against the wall and closed his eyes, “I’m obviously in Better Living territory now; No one knows where I am; I’m lost; I’m unarmed; Joe’s going to murder me if Better Living doesn’t first. Pros? I can do pros. I just have to turn around and find my way back. I could find Pete Wentz.”

He thought about it carefully before standing and rubbing his face, “Pros win. God damn this Wentz bastard. I’m gonna find him, thank him and then punch his stupid teeth in.”

Patrick turned, already feeling the itch in his heels to get back into familiar, safe territory and away from the white he’d allowed himself to foolishly believe he’d escaped. Maybe the Young Bloods did have a functioning community, but it was below ground for a reason and Patrick had forgotten that. Even if he didn’t find Pete on this little adventure, at least he’d given himself a wake up call he’d badly needed.

His fingers left the button only to return to it a couple feet later when the first voice sounded.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Another agreed. Their voices were muffled, as if through some sort of mask, and the ground under Patrick’s feet seemed to give out for a few seconds, “Yes, the motion sensors reported movement down this way, too big to be an animal and too loud to be some shifting rubble.”

“So you think that was a voice just now?”

“Yes, agent, I do believe that was a voice just now.” Three voices, one female, possibly more. Patrick felt like every bone in his body had turned to jelly and his fingers fumbled for the button until Joe’s words came back to him.

_They’re new._

_This is their first mission on their own._

His fingers left the button and he took off instead, in the opposite direction of where he thought he’d come from. He couldn’t lead them to the faction, not even if it meant his own life. There were _kids_ there, he’d met them earlier that day; young and too scared to laugh until Joe made faces at them. There were _people_ there, people he’d come to care about, who he’d rather die than put in danger. He had no clue how many were with them, an army, a crew, a small group of three, but even one was too many to lead anywhere near the base.

“Shit, that way!” one of the muffled voices shouted and there were footsteps after him, following him. Good.

He ran until his lungs ached, twisting and turning and fighting down the panic in his chest because he didn’t have _time_ to do anything but _run_ and just try to get them away.

He could have run farther, no doubt, except the light above him blew up at the exact wrong moment and the sparks startled him. He shrieked, his foot caught the edge of a pile of rock and stone and he went flying, and then skidding, down the tunnel, coming to a rest a good ten feet from sheer momentum.

It took him a few seconds to catch up with his body, and he knew there should have been aches and pains from that nasty fall but the adrenaline in his blood kept those at bay. Unfortunately, it couldn’t keep his chasers at bay like it could his physical ails.

“There he is!” They’d turned the corner while he was down and Patrick didn’t think, just grabbed the nearest pipe and tugged and pulled desperately until it broke away from the main body with the _snap_ of rusted edges breaking apart.

“Oh, kid’s gonna fight us,” The women, obviously a Vixen, laughed, stopping a few feet away from him. Patrick just gripped the pipe tight and cursed himself for not demanding that someone taught him _some_ sort of self defense. For fuck’s sake, Better Living thought he knew the secret that would blow their whole operation up! How had anyone overlooked that!?

The three Dracs with her, one who hadn’t spoken during the exchange from before surprising Patrick at his appearance, all stopped just behind her and gave off identical, menacing laughs.

“Shut up.” Patrick snapped, trying not to show his shaking. Fuck, he was willing to die for his friends, but he didn’t _want_ to. And Vixens’ weren’t known for their kindness in death.

 _Please_ , Patrick thought desperately, half regretting not pressing the button in the first place. But they’d been _new_ , probably only a little older than Patrick himself. Joe, though he was Patrick’s age, had a different standard. His training had been intense from the start, self imposed so he could catch up to Andy, from what he’d told Patrick. He’d always been strong and Patrick had always trusted him, but Patrick didn’t think he could ever ask people to protect _him_ , let alone kids his age.

 _Someone help me_ , he prayed as loudly as he could, as if the city itself would hear him. It had worked once before, maybe it would work again.

“I think you should come with us, darlin’,” The Vixen smiled sweetly, all tan skin and curves and legs, like her beauty would convince Patrick to just up and go with her.

“No, thanks,” He said politely, gripping the pipe tighter. If he got out of this alive, he was going to get one permanently grafted into his palm so he would never be weaponless again.

“It wasn’t a request,” One of the Dracs growled. A red dot appeared on his forehead.

Patrick felt his heart _freeze_ and it took too long to restart. He was going to have a heart attack.

 _Oh my god, please let that be someone on my side_ , he couldn’t help but beg to himself. If it was, he’d seriously have to reconsider his views on believing in the fucking city as a higher being.

There was a click and Patrick barely ducked down in time to avoid a faceful of Drac brains. He covered his ears with his hands, the pipe dropping to the concrete ground with a clatter. His body followed soon after to avoid the retaliation shot into the darkness behind Patrick.

“Ambush!” Another of the Dracs shouted before a new shot was let off and he joined his comrade, their blood mixing together.

Patrick shoved his face to the ground and clenched his eyes shut tight. They’d tried to kill him. They worked for Better Living. Their kind had murdered his fucking father. Patrick wanted to throw up.

Their footsteps headed away from him then, fast paced and staggering. Two shots more and the tunnel was silent.

_Oh my god_

_I’m still alive._

He set up slowly, still on his knees and refusing to look behind him. Finally, he caught his breath and turned around, ready to face his new executioner.

Instead, the tunnel was empty.

“Shit,” He cursed, “Fucking Pete Wentz, wasn’t it?”

He took off running. It was dark and cold and fucking scary, he had no idea where anything or anybody was, and he was just going to wander alone, lost until he was murdered or died of starvation or dehydration or he would just live forever, wandering the lonely tunnels because no way would he be able to find his way back to the base after the mad dash he’d made to try to lose the Better Living Dipshits.

He turned a corner at full sprint but bounced off an unexpected, soft wall. Wall-arms flailed at him and his arms flailed back and both he and the wall went down in a pile of limb and wall-limb. The wall was heavier than him and Patrick had been flying so the impact against the ground was hard and painful. If it hadn’t been for a _hand_ on the back of his head, protecting him, he probably would have cracked his head open right then.

“Who the fuck…” He muttered, squinting his eyes open when he was sure he wasn’t dead.

Tanned skin, dark hair and a big mouth set in a grim line.

“ _Pete_ ,” Patrick said carefully, like the man would disappear if he was too loud or said too much. With the effort the man had been going through to avoid Patrick, he didn’t doubt it.

“Patrick.” Pete replied, though something was...different from how it had sounded before. Patrick reopened his eyes and carefully looked into Pete’s own, wondering if-

Black. Patrick remembered brown; nice and calm and soothing, protecting him. These irises were black. Bottomless. Consuming.

This looked like the man who had saved him, the guy who had literally run from the room as Patrick was coming in. Pete Wentz, the leader of the city’s biggest rebellion and the man hundreds of people were willing to die in the name of.

But this wasn’t _Pete_ , not who had saved Patrick. At least, not the one who Patrick _remembered_ saving him.

“Sandman,” He corrected himself.

And _Sandman_ looked at him. All consuming, a pit of darkness where _eyes_ should have been. But something about the look Sandman was giving him was...gentle. Fond, in an almost twisted way. Almost...kind.

Patrick looked into his lungs, into his stomach, knocked to see if panic and anger were home.

No one was.

He wasn’t afraid. He could never be afraid of Pete. Or Sandman. He’d...they’d saved him. They were the reason Patrick was alive.

Patrick opened his mouth to say more but Sandman lifted a hand and brushed a finger against Patrick’s lips to hush him. He set up on his knees and then stood, offered his hand and pulled Patrick to his feet and then under his arm. He settled muscle over Patrick’s shoulders protectively and Patrick let himself lean against Sandman and just feel...relief.

“I prayed,” He finally whispered, so quietly he almost didn’t think Sandman could hear him, “I prayed, and you came for me again.”

Sandman didn’t say a word, but his arm tightened around Patrick’s shoulders. Patrick could almost hear the, _Of course I did._

They walked in silence after that, something Patrick was strangely okay with. When the walls lost their whiteness, their jaggedness and then finally all hints of being away from the HQ, Sandman dropped his arm. He rested a possessive hand on Patrick’s lower back though, leading him carefully through more and more familiar tunnels until they were stopped in front of the door Patrick felt like he hadn’t seen in forever.

Sandman had brought him home, back to his room. There had been no faltering, no pauses, like Sandman had known the whole time just what room Patrick was in.

Patrick slipped his communicator out of his belt and pressed it against the door pad until there was a near silent beep and the door unlocked, allowing Patrick inside.

Patrick didn’t go in immediately though. Who knew when Pete _or_ Sandman would let him see either of them again and he wasn’t quite ready to leave yet.

“Listen,” He tried, feeling skittish but strangely pleased that Sandman still hand a hand on his back, that he’d never been invisible to either of them.

Sandman just shook his head though. He smiled and it looked _wrong_ but Patrick didn’t think it was as bad as everyone made it out to be. He looked at Sandman and he didn’t see the thing, the monster, that the soldiers spoke of. He just saw...Sandman.

“Goodnight.” He finally relented.

Sandman nodded, let his hand drop, and was gone without a single word spoken to him besides his name.

 

-

 

Patrick didn’t remember much of what happened before he fell asleep. He knew he removed the button and communicator and relocked his door from the inside, told his mother’s picture about what had happened and headed to bed, curled up tight in his blanket and the warmest hoodie he’d been able to find in the closet, unable to get warm after the head of Sandman’s skin on him through his shirt. He must have slept straight through Joe coming to check on him because when the door burst open of its own accord and Patrick jumped awake from the first peaceful sleep he’d been able to catch since he’d come to the HQ, he noticed a cold tray of bread and water for him to eat. He didn’t have time to focus on that though, because his door had been brutally shoved open, as he’d understood before he’d noticed the kind gesture.

“Patrick!” A voice shouted. He’d only heard it twice before, so it took him a moment to truly grasp the fact that Sandman had just thrown himself bodily through the door and into Patrick room and shouted his name in such a panicked manner, but when he _did_ Patrick was up in a flash and already breathing too hard to be normal.

“What’s the matter, what’s wrong, who died, oh my god, who died was it Joe, please god, don’t let it be Joe-” He gasped out, feeling his vision going blurry. Shit, shit, Joe was dead, Joe was dead and Patrick hadn’t gotten to say goodbye, hadn’t been there, hadn’t-hadn’t-hadn’t-

“No, no, no one’s dead!” Sandman’s voice broke through the panic and Patrick felt a rush of calm fall over him. It was okay. Sandman was there, it would all be okay.

Patrick rubbed his face and looked up at the man, strange to see in this setting, but not unwelcome.

His eyes were brown, the same brown he remembered.

“Pete.” Patrick couldn’t help but smile, small and careful, “It’s you this time.”

“Yes.” Pete said in relief, sagging. It was like he was a completely different, completely identical person to the night before. His face looked more relaxed but, somehow, more worried, like it had lost some of it’s age but gained stress to equal the loss out. His voice was a little higher, more manic. He looked scared.

“What’s wrong?” Patrick asked, wondering just what he could do to ease that look.

“Did he hurt you?” Pete asked immediately, “Did he do _anything_ weird, Patrick, anything fucked up in _any way_ , did he try anything?”

“Who?” Patrick asked carefully, cleaning his glasses on his hoodie and shoving them onto his face.

Pete made a strange noise and looked up at the ceiling for a few seconds, like he didn’t want to look at Patrick, before he finally met his eye again, “Sandman. Did he-”

“What? No, of course not.” Patrick shook his head, “He saved my _life_. I would have _died_ if you guys hadn’t been there.”

“What?” Pete asked, the tables somehow having been turned without either of them being aware.

“Do you guys not share memories? I’m not really sure how it works. I’ve only heard rumors.” Patrick crossed his legs, playing with the ends of his sleeves, “And no one who would actually know would talk to me about it. I was out...exploring. Looking for you, maybe? I got really lost and these Dracs found me. Sandman saved me. And then he walked me back to my room so I couldn’t get lost again.”

Patrick hadn’t noticed the red rimmed eyes until Pete’s face had calmed down. He looked like he was trying not to sag under the sudden release of pressure on his shoulders. Had he been crying? What the fuck?

“Oh...oh.” Pete said instead of words, “W-well then. I’m very sorry for waking you up. I’ll just...be. Going.”

“Wait,” Patrick leaned forward, like he could catch Pete before he walked out again, “Wait, I really needed to talk to you. It’ll only take a few minutes, I swear.”

“I-well,” Pete shifted awkwardly before he carefully nodded, “Okay. Shoot, Pattycakes.”

“Pattycakes?” Patrick asked instead, feeling his cheeks flush a little.

“Shit,” Pete said tightly and turned around again. Patrick really did jump out of bed to grab his sleeve then, loosely so Pete could break free with ease if he chose but sudden enough to stop him.

“Wait,” Patrick repeated, “I promise, it’ll just take a few seconds.”

Pete didn’t say anything but he didn’t try to leave either so Patrick straightened up and looked at his feet, crossed his arms so he didn’t feel so defensive. He didn’t feel unsafe, because Pete probably made him feel safer than even Joe sometimes, but Pete had become something of a far off goal and while Patrick was happy to finally get to him, he was still a little nervous.

“I just...I wanted to say ‘thank you’.”

“Patrick, you don’t,” Pete cut in, sounding a little nervous and still not looking at him. Patrick wanted to get him to _look_ at him.

“I wanted to tell you how grateful I am. You saved my _life_ back there. I never would have made it out on my own. You saved me, and you saved my father’s body and all of the work he gave his life to finish. And you gave me so much. No one’s forced me to work or got mad at me for these random fucking freak outs I’ve been having. You’ve given me this fucking room, and this food and clothes. Shit, man. You...You gave me _color_. And I don’t know if you know just how...how fucking _thankful_ I am that you took me in. I’m sorry for chasing after you when you obviously don’t want me anywhere near you for your own reasons, but you still went with Joe to look for me when I went missing a couple days ago and you’ve been so fucking _kind_ to me. Sandman, too. I was a dead man but he saved me. You’re like a fucking guardian angel to me, and I just...I really just wanted to let you know.”

“It’s no big deal,” Pete said weakly, finally looking at Patrick, “I’d do it for...for anyone in your position.”

“I’m not stupid.” Patrick smiled a little, finally getting around to the question that had been circling in his head since Pete had first shown up back in the apartment, “You’re a fucking nice man. You help fucking orphans and...and motorbabies every day. But I’m not a kid. I’m older than a lot of the kids on the streets now and I’ve got a lot more baggage than them. Even as a high ranking BL employee in a paid for apartment, money and supplies were tight and people like you, people who don’t have the fucked up luxuries of the upper class, you don’t just give supplies and food away, not when you have soldiers and families to feed. Why, Pete? Why are you helping me like this?”

Pete didn’t say anything for a long time. Instead, those warm brown eyes traced over Patrick face until Patrick’s cheeks flushed and he broke the contact himself, looking at his bare toes. He half wanted to go find Joe and let Joe hit him across the face until he forgot he’d even asked the stupid question.

“Nevermind,” he finally got out, “Forget I said anything, you can totally go, I’ll just-”

“When I was little,” Pete interrupted, sounding conflicted but ultimately willing to continue, “my father was the leader of the Young Bloods. Yeezus, as he was known, adopted me after he saved me from Better Living’s Linda Vista Institution. When I was old enough to start taking on more responsibility, he revealed Operation Desert Blood, a deep cover mission where he took the previous Edward Stump and replaced him with your father and mother. He assigned me to you as my first mission. I was to tail you and protect you. You had nearly been killed at the Black Parade Rebellion and if it hadn’t been for my intervention in a twist of fate, you would have been. Yeezus feared you might have been in danger so I was off to watch over you. You were my responsibility. I take my responsibilities seriously. I was great at my job, too. You were almost caught so many times, playing music on your fucking guitar,” he laughed a little, “Or just doing those little rebellions you’d do, like walk on the road or fucking scrape your knuckles against a wall just to leave some color against the white. It sort of...proved to me something I’d begun to doubt. That people, even in the system, they wanted out. You had everything you could want, but you didn’t want _everything_ , you just wanted _freedom_. You were sort of...mine, in a way. Mine, to protect and mine to take care of, out of sight and mind, but always there. Like a guardian angel,” He agreed.

“When Yeezus….When Yeezus was killed and I took over in his place, I had to give up my position as your guard, because I just didn’t have time to do it properly, so I took Joe off duty as Andy’s assistant and set him on you to watch and protect. He was pissed at first, but you made him love you just like you made me, with these little acts that proved just how worth you were protecting. Even now, I know you must have had some way to get a guard to you last night, but you knew they were new and young so you didn’t call them. You protected us when you ran the other way. You thought you were going to die, but you still did what you had to to save the rest of the base. So...you know. You’re still mine, in a way. You’re still my charge. So I’m going to protect you, the only way I can. With the protection of my whole faction.”

Patrick’s fingers went limp in his sleeve and Pete was gone before Patrick could say a word. Still, it was nearly five minutes before a single sound could pass through Patrick’s lips.

 

-

 

“I’m a drain,” Patrick said firmly as he set down across the table from Joe. Joe choked on his water, and Nate had to slap his back until he was able to catch his breath.

“Aren’t you-” Ryland grinned, leaning forward, all in Patrick’s space.

“-supposed to be in your room?” Alex finished for his partner in crime, leaning against Ryland’s long back.

“I came here.” Patrick agreed, “Because I’ve been a bitch and it’s time that I stopped. I can’t rely on everyone to take care of me while I mourn. Everyone has lost someone or something. Everyone has gone through what I’ve gone through, but they didn’t let it destroy them. God damn, the Cobras literally stare their horror in the face and _practice a fighting style based off of it_ ,”

“Patrick,” Joe said carefully, “It’s only been like two weeks. You’re allowed to mourn.”

“And I have.” Patrick agreed, gripping his fingers tightly together, until they turned white, “And I will. Probably forever. I’m going to be mourning more than just my father’s death, but the life he couldn’t lead and the life my mother lost and the childhood I and every person in this base has lost due to Better Living. But I can’t let it eat at me. I can’t let my fear control me anymore. I’m done being scared, Joe. I don’t want to be a drain to anyone, especially not you or Pete. So tell me where I need to go.”

“Um,” Joe frowned and looked to Eric, “Doesn’t Andy usually handle placement?”

“Yeah,” Disashi answered for his friend, because he was balancing crackers on Eric’s open mouth.

“I’ll take you to Andy, then. _After_ you eat something, idiot.”

Patrick smiled, already feeling a little better.

He ate a bowl of fruit because it was fresh and in season, with not a hint of Better Living drugs involved in it’s preparation and enjoyed small talk with the members of what he’d come to understand to be Pete’s inner circle until Joe finished his own food.

“Okay, Stump,” Joe stood, dropping his bowl onto the tray Ryland had left in the middle of the table, “Let’s go meet Andy.”

Patrick had not had the pleasure of making Andy’s acquaintance yet, but the gossip he’d picked up was worrying. Beyoncé, who was strict and probably the baddest ass Patrick had ever met in his life, had personally trained Andy since he’d shown up in the faction when he was younger. Andy was one of the best soldiers the faction had to offer and he considered himself to owe a life debt to Pete, which he repaid through life long loyalty as Pete’s bodyguard. He was a tough motherucker, something he’d picked up from his mentor, and was not only Pete’s best friend but almost overly protective of him. He and Joe were close as well, which just made Patrick more nervous, rather than less so, no matter what Joe’s intentions were when he’d informed Patrick.

Andy, when Patrick finally saw him, was the other man from before, back in the apartment. His hair was long and dark and his lip was pierced, along with most of his exposed skin being covered with tattoos, much like Pete’s.

“Joe,” Andy said quietly, completely unassuming. Patrick could more easily picture him surrounded by books than surrounded by blood, but after all of the rumors Joe had confirmed, he did not for a second underestimate him.

“And-aaaaaaaaay!” Joe highfived him and then motioned to Patrick, “My man, this is Patrick, you’ve probably heard of him. He’s the main attraction lately, top of the list for BL. He needs a job. Educated, fairly good with kids, got’s a wicked broom technique. You name it, he’s willing to do it. Right, P-Stump?”

Patrick nodded, smiling nervously, “That’s right.”

Andy gave him an unimpressed look before returning to Joe, “Everything’s been filled for now. Have him come back in a few days.”

“Aw, Andy,” Joe pouted, “Don’t give him the cold shoulder. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I beg to differ. If those motion sensors hadn’t been wired to our boards as well, Mister Stump would have been dead and left in the tunnels to rot, or worse, used to lead those bastards right to us.” Andy said, voice not raising a single note.

“Yeah, but if you give him a job, his big, adventurous heart won’t lead him astray, now will it? Who has time to adventure or betray a whole faction of people who saved your life when they’ve got work to do!?” Joe threw his hands up dramatically. Patrick didn’t know whether to laugh or cringe so he did a bit of both, until Andy sent him a sharp look and he made his whole body go blank.

“Look,” Andy adjusted the thick glasses on his nose, “I understand that you are close, Joe, and I understand that he needs _something_ to do, but I can’t just throw an untested, barely old enough kid into the inner workings of our organization because he’s _bored_.”

“Andy,” Joe protested.

“He’s right,” Patrick broke in, biting at his lip nervously, “I am untested and going out and getting lost was a really stupid move. I don’t have to be in the inner workings or whatever. I’ll do kitchen duty, if you want. Clean bandages, maybe, if I can make myself handle so much blood. Whatever you need me to do. No matter what it is, I promise, I won’t complain.”

“See?” Joe crossed his arms, “He just needs some place to start.”

Andy sighed loudly, but the squeaking of the door behind him stopped his reply.

“Andy, I-” Pete muttered, looking up from the pile of papers in his arms, “Oh. Patrick. Hey, Joe.”

“Pete.” Joe nodded, sounding amused, “That paperwork?”

“Who knew running an underground rebellion generated so much paperwork?” Pete joked, dropping the pile onto the table Andy had been sitting on, doing something with a calculator and another pile of paper.

“You need it proofread?” Joe asked, voice dropping slyly.

“Joseph, don’t you dare,” Andy said darkly, standing up slowly like a fucking kraken rising from the depths of the books Patrick had read when he was younger.

“See, ‘cause, P-Stump here, he doesn’t have a job yet, but he wants to do something that will help out. He’s pretty educated, got high marks in literacy and the like. He could totally fix those up for you. I mean, if you don’t mind an untested, barely old enough kid being thrown into the inner workings of our organization.”

“I’m going to kick your ass,” Andy said firmly and launched himself over the table and into Joe. They rolled around on the floor, punching and pulling hair like fucking children, and Patrick quickly sidestepped, over to Pete.

“I don’t mind,” He said firmly, “Working in the kitchens or laundry or something. Really, I don’t.”

“But I do need a proofreader,” Pete smiled carefully, “And you are educated in literacy, at least. It’s hard for even Better Living to fuck that shit up. I write a lot of reports, Lunchbox. And I keep really strange hours. And you’d probably have to deal with Sandman a lot more. You okay with that?”

“None of those are a problem for me, if you’d like me to go over your reports.” Patrick shook his head. Andy made an aggravated noise and yanked harder at the growing curls on Joe’s head.

“Looks like you have a job, then, Mister Stump.”

“Just Patrick is fine.” Patrick smiled, shaking Pete’s hand.

Later, patching up the scratches on Joe’s face from Andy’s cat-like nails, he could still feel warm fingers wrapped around his.

 

-

 

Despite what Pete said, Patrick didn’t see all that much of him. He woke up to a messenger on most days, usually a surly Andy or a smug Joe or even the occasional amused Gabe or Travie. They gave him the slowly diminishing pile of reports and he spent however long he needed to going over them and fixing Pete’s frankly appalling spelling so that the reports were actually readable before he handed them off to Andy, Joe, Gabe or Travie when they came to collect them at midday. He noticed that no one was ever mentioned by name in the reports, which mostly dealt with recording attacks or incidents that had occurred since the last batch of reports. After a few weeks, he finally got a few of the code names down and, with the knowledge, was able to piece together exactly what his friends’ days really consisted of.

Joe, or Horseshoe Crab, had a habit of blowing things up when he tagged along with Travie (Class Hero) and Gabe (King Cobra) on their missions. Gabe’s crew all had different types of Cobra names while Travie’s crew were simply ‘agent 1’ through ‘agent 3’, possibly due to their much less dramatic personalities. Andy went by Donnie Catcher, which made Patrick laugh when he’d finally figured it out. Pete went by Sandman as his alias, which also amused Patrick. Reading over the reports, Patrick wondered if they’d always been so violent and out there in the world of rebellion. If so, how had Patrick never heard of them? Even locked away in Better Living, he imagined that it would have been hard to be completely uninformed as to the goings on of the rebels. They seemed to be everywhere, if not from Pete’s orders than from some other factions, trucks who managed to make it through the desert being targeted in the city, strongholds broken into and records destroyed, systems hacked and fucked with, Dracs and Vixens kidnapped for information. Patrick almost couldn’t wrap his head around it, how unknowing he’d been, even growing up in the heart of the attacks.

So Patrick didn’t see Pete much, though he was brought majorly into the know why the reports.

Not seeing Pete didn’t mean, though, that he didn’t see Sandman much, either.

“Hey,” Patrick yawned out upon waking up to Pete-Sandman’s familiar presence staring at him, wide eyes completely black like pits in his face.

“Hi,” Sandman mumbled, waving a hand weakly. It wasn’t the first time or even one of the first times since Patrick had taken the job of reading over Pete’s reports that he’d woken up to Sandman in his room, just watching him. He never really responded when Patrick spoke to him though, usually just set in the chair first Joe and then Ash had claimed as their own, so the verbal reply, more than the usual look of acknowledgement, sent a small shot of anxiety through his system. It was enough to wake him up fully and disallow him from rolling over and going back to sleep like usual.

“Something wrong?” Patrick asked, rubbing at his face to clear it of sleep.

“No,” Sandman shook his head, looking from Patrick to the door, “There was a slight mishap. A few Dracs made it too close for comfort so we moved that side of the compound to a different place. New maps are being uploaded to everyone’s comms, but until then, the map is outdated. ‘didn’t want you running off again thinking you knew the way.”

“That was one time,” Patrick smiled, sitting up and stretching, “And it was only so I could find Pete.”

“Still,” Sandman shrugged, “I wanted to make sure nothing happened.”

“Then you should be out, patrolling.” Patrick felt the warmth in his chest anyway. Pete might not have been fond of him, anymore at least, but Sandman liked him. Maybe it wasn’t his savior, but Sandman had saved him enough to reach guardian angel status and he still felt the safest he ever did when it was like this, the two of them in his room together.

“I don’t care about what happens to them.” Sandman shrugged, “You have to be safe.”

“You’re weird,” Patrick said firmly, “I’m not more important than anyone in this place. If you have to chose between me and someone else, I want you to save that other person. Will you do that?”

“No.” Sandman shrugged again, voice not changing tone, “Why would I do that?”

“Why would you save _me_?” Patrick frowned, “Sandman, you’ve known me for barely two months.”

Sandman shrugged again, “Does it matter?”

“Yes!” Patrick itched at his wrist, feeling frustrated, “If something could happen to the base, you should be out with the others, making sure everything is safe.”

Sandman leaned forward suddenly, closer and closer until he was completely in Patrick’s space, hands coming to rest on the bed. Had it been anyone else, Patrick would have probably flipped. But even with Sandman so close, boxing him in, Patrick didn’t feel fear. He felt like a sheep, confused and just trying not to wander too far, and he felt like Sandman was the sheepdog, always nipping at his heels, reining him in and keeping him safe even despite his will. But Patrick wasn’t the only one in the herd, he wasn’t the only one who needed protection and it was like Sandman refused to focus on anyone else, just on Patrick. Patrick didn’t _understand_ , didn’t understand what was really happening or who he was becoming, he was just trying to take one step at a time and keep the panic below his tongue, didn’t understand why Sandman was coming to his room almost every night to keep _guard_ , like he wanted to keep Patrick safe. _Why_ did he want to keep Patrick safe?

“I’m going to tell you a story.” Sandman finally said, voice soft but still just as dark and rough as it was when he was speaking normally. Patrick nodded carefully, almost afraid that if he said something out loud, his voice would break whatever was happening.

“Pete doesn’t want you to know. Pete doesn’t want anyone to know. He’s a coward like that.” Sandman shrugged, “But you. You’re something, Patrick. Something is different about you, and I don’t know what it is yet but I’m going to find out. Until then, you’re what I’m going to protect. No one, not Pete or Yeezus, not fucking Beyoncé, no one orders me around. Not if I don’t want to do it. I won’t spend my time saving _humans_.”

“ _Humans_?” Patrick asked carefully, “Sandman, we’re all human. _You’re_ human.”

“No.” Sandman smiled, and for the first time, Patrick felt a shiver of fear caused by Sandman. Not for himself, because even with that cold twist of lips aimed at him, he didn’t feel like Sandman would hurt him. But he could finally see what the others saw, the monster staring at him, “No, I’m not.”

“What?” Patrick couldn’t help but ask, “What do you-I. What?”

“Pete was born in Better Living, too. Little known fact, but he’s the son of one of the Doom Disciples.”

“I-I don’t know what that is.” Patrick broke in, feeling completely out of his depth and reeling.

“We’re getting into some _top secret_ shit, now,” Sandman laughed, almost mockingly, “The Doom Disciples, Patrick, are the top ring of Better Living. They’re the people who only take orders from one other guy, the Head. The _Executives_ , maybe that rings a bell.”

“The Executives…” Patrick tasted the words, felt the poison dripping from them and almost recoiled, “They’re the guys in charge. My dad got orders directly from them, right?”

“Right,” Sandman nodded, “He got pretty far up the ladder before he died. Higher than a lot of _real_ employees could get. The disciples have a lot of bastards, they basically have their pick of anyone they wanted. Most employees are so drugged out they couldn’t tell if they were standing up or sleeping, so every few months they’ve got a new batch of unwanted kids.”

“No,” Patrick’s mouth went dry, “No, no way, no one could be that-”

“They could. They _are_ , Patrick. Why the hell do you think you send your kids to Australia? Why do you think Better Living _takes_ them when they can get their hands on them?”

“They _experiment_ on children!?” Patrick shouted, feeling like this conversation had escaped his control. Maybe it never _had_ been under his control. Sandman had led this thing the whole time, like he’d planned for Patrick to open up the avenue.

“Yes,” Sandman nodded, “And Pete was one of those children. Pete was the _only_ child in his group to live, actually.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be telling me this,” Patrick tried, half because he didn’t think this was a tale Pete would be comfortable telling Patrick, Sandman’s strange fixation or not, and half because he was already feeling queasy and didn’t know if he could finish the story without losing his stomach.

“If I don’t, Pete never will. He’s terrified to talk to you. I told you, he’s a coward. Won’t even look at you too much, scared he’ll _unleash_ me and I’ll scare you away.”

“Scared? Why would I be scared of you? You’ve never done anything but protect me.”

“Exactly,” Sandman rolled his eyes, “But Pete’s strange. All these wild thoughts racing through our head. So Pete’s put in this group of kids, all of ‘em around his age. And they’re _implanted_ with _us._ You’ll love this part, it’s the part about my humanity or lack there of. The leading theory right now is that we’re some sort of _computer program_ , coded into them. Another fucking _existence_ , stuffed into his head. But I wasn’t just a code, Patrick. I know I wasn’t just something they created. I’m something _beyond._ ”

“What are you, Sandman?” Patrick asked after a few moments of stunned silence, not quite sure what to do with the new information. Sandman sounded almost desperate, desperate for some answer from Patrick, for someone to _believe_ him.

“I don’t know.” Sandman admitted, “I don’t know what I am. I know I’m wasn’t meant to be here, in his body. But he’s grown up with me, since he was five years old. He was rescued when he was around seven, but before that...Pete was the only survivor. I was the only...artificial intelligence, to live on with him. We were experimented on, endurance, fucking autopsies, sick tortures. What kind of organization would do that to their own creation?”

“Sandman, what can I do? Why are you telling me this?”

“Because he _won’t_ ,” Sandman nearly shouted, slamming back into the chair before standing and shoving a fist against the wall, like he was holding back from just punching the cement and rock as hard as he could, “Because Pete _won’t_ tell you, but you can help. I _know_ you can help, but I just don’t know _how_ yet.”

“I will.” Patrick said quietly, standing up and carefully making his way to Sandman’s side. He hesitated but finally let his hand settle over the fist resting against the wall, fingers wrapping around Sandman’s and pulling his hand from the wall, “I’ll do whatever I can to help you. Just tell me what it is I can do, I’ll do it.”

“Don’t let him ignore you anymore,” Sandman’s hand twitched and Patrick went to pull away but tanned fingers caught his pale ones in a tight grip and Patrick didn’t fight it. He couldn’t get away, even if he wanted to, “Don’t let him run away anymore because we fucking _need_ you, somehow.”

“Okay.” Patrick agreed, “Okay. I’ll...I’ll try to talk to him tomorrow. We can….I dunno. Do you guys share memories?”

“We can, when we want.” Sandman nodded, already beginning to look calmer. His hand was still tight around Patrick’s so Patrick led him to the bed and they set together on the edge until Sandman had finally calmed and released his wrist.

“So, just...I dunno, talk to him again. Tell him I really do...I really do want to know him. I’d like to get to know my savior, you know? He doesn’t have to be...scared or whatever. I’m not scared of him, and I’m not scared of you. You’re like my angel. I trust you. And I trust him, too.”

Sandman didn’t say anything after that and they set in silence, the dim light that Patrick always kept on to fight away his nightmares lengthening their shadows.

“You should go back to sleep.” Sandman eventually

said, pointing at the clock, whose first numbers really were too small for Patrick’s comfort.

“You’ll be here in the morning?” Patrick asked, already crawling back under the warm blanket and trying to save the warmth in his fingers from their hands touching earlier.

“One of us.” Sandman agreed, nodding his head slowly.

“Okay. See you soon, Sandman.”

“Sleep tight,” Sandman intoned. Patrick couldn’t help but laugh, because Sandman had never cracked a joke before and even if it hadn’t been all that funny, the fact that _Sandman_ had said it made it funny enough. Patrick closed his eyes and slept, breathing calm and nightmares hidden away for the night with his angel on watch.

 

-

 

Patrick woke up to a strange sight.

He didn’t have an alarm, but he usually woke up around the same time every day so when he glanced at the clock, it wasn’t too far off from his usual. No, the strange part was looking towards where he’d left Sandman the night before, at the foot of his bed, and finding him still there, slumped against the thin mattress and snoring softly. It was...cute, not that Patrick would ever say that to Sandman’s face.

On the table by his bedside was a small plate of bread and what looked to be some type of meat, along with a pile of folders, most likely reports. The door was still locked from the inside, Patrick could see the little key highlighted in green on the door pad, so Sandman must have left at some point and came back with the daily reports and some _breakfast_?

Patrick made a soft noise of confusion and looked back at the man on the end of his bed. Brown eyes, confused, sleepy but growing ever more alert and shocked, met his and they set in silence, both not quite sure what to do.

“Hi.” Patrick finally broke the silence.

“What the fuck.” Pete replied, sitting up properly and rubbing his neck, “What the fuck, Patrick?”

“Sandman said we needed to talk.” Patrick shrugged, “Do you remember?”

“I want it to be a nightmare.” Pete barely mumbled, like he wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to continue. Patrick wondered if he would have to take charge of the conversation, like Sandman had. But what was he supposed to say? _Your alter ego thinks I can help you, so let’s the two of us be friends?_

“I’m really sorry.” Patrick finally said, “I really didn’t think he’d tell me all of that. I know you probably don’t want someone like me knowing all of that personal stuff. You don’t like me much, I can tell, and I’d hate for someone I didn’t really know or like to know all of the...personal stuff from my past. So I’m sorry he told me against your will.”

Pete set up straighter, frowning, “Did he tell you I didn’t like you?”

“I don’t think you like me because you avoid me and go out of your way to not speak to me when you can’t stay away. He said you were...scared. Scared to talk to me, because you thought I’d be scared of Sandman. ”

“That _fucker_ ,” Pete cursed, looking frustrated, “He had no fucking right to-”

“I know,” Patrick nodded again, pulling his legs closer to himself, away from Pete, “I’m really sorry.”

“It isn’t _you_ , Patrick.” Pete groaned, rubbing his face again, “It’s _Sandman_.”

“I don’t know what’s going on between you two.” Patrick took a tight grip of the feeling slowly crawling its way up his throat and over his tongue, forced it back down with the resolve to let it back up later when he didn’t have to be strong for both himself _and_ Sandman, “But I know Sandman asked me for help. I know he needs me and he is my friend, so I’m going to help him, however I can. He told me _you_ need my help. You’ve both protected me for years, right? Maybe it’s my time to try to protect you.”

“Patrick…” Pete reached out for Patrick but snatched his hand back just as suddenly, “Patrick, you don’t have any idea….how could you help me? I don’t eve know what’s wrong.”

“We’ll work on it.” Patrick said firmly, reaching out himself. His hands shook, fear that Pete would reject him, nerves and something else causing the very blood in his body to tremble.

“We’ll work on it, together. Whatever it is, when we figure it out. I’ll be there to help you, okay? So don’t just...ignore me anymore. Don’t try to hide Sandman away like he’s a dirty secret or pretend you don’t...I dunno. Everyone acts like I’m some fucking...some fucking _thing_ to you, like I’m important, like you _care_ about me. Pete, _am_ I important? _Why?_ You said you wanted to protect me, but you don’t need to anymore, Pete, not if it’s...out of some sense of obligation, like you’re seeing a mission through. I’m not a mission, Pete.”

“You ask so many questions,” Pete groaned into his hands, covering his face and shaking his head, “Patrick, Pattycakes, light of my life, you are so important. So, so important that telling you how important you are makes me feel like a creep because it’s completely one-sided. I know everything about you, Patrick, do you understand that? I was there for every missed birthday, I was there to protect you when you were scared even when you didn’t know it or keep BL off you. I know your favorite color and your favorite food because I have people that tell me everything you did so I know you’re safe. I wake up in the mornings and see that Sandman spent _all night_ watching over you and I get so fucking _jealous_ because _I_ want to protect you. That should be _me_ making sure you’re always safe. Are you creeped out yet, Patrick? I’ve been staying away from you because if I don’t I’ll spend all of my time at your side. You were what kept me going for a long time, after Yeezus and the others died. It was a massacre, Beyoncé and her crew had taken us all out to practice, before this base had been completed. While we were gone, the old base was compromised and BL invaded. Yeezus and Jay-Z, Beyoncé’s husband and my adoptive father both died. So did nearly all of Yeezus’ counsel. You’d been what had made me realize that the people under BL’s control were worth saving, but after they died, fuck, you were what I worked for. I would think, _Patrick would want this_ or _Patrick would need this in a safer world_ , and I’d do it. It got better, eventually, but you’ve been such a big influence and I don’t know what to do now that you’re really in front of me,”

“Keep me in front of you,” Patrick broke in, “Pete, you _saved my life_ , you _brought my father home_. If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead so many times over. You sent me Joe, you gave me a place to be, you gave me a place to _exist_ as more than this fragile glass figure. You’ve done _so much_ for me, so much. Maybe it is a little weird that you know so much about me but I would gladly tell you all of those things myself. I’m sorry Sandman told me those things about you because _you_ didn’t tell me, but I’m glad he made you stay. This place...these people. Pete, you did all of this. Why the fuck would I not want to be a part of that? To be important to you? I’m not saying I can do anything important, I’m not saying I want to take some high position in your government down here, become some big part of the rebellion. I’m just saying I want to support you, however you’ll have me. And I want to help you. Sandman believes I can, he believes it enough to _tell_ me that he thinks I could do something. You’re literally the reason I’m alive, Pete. If I have to dedicate the rest of my fucking life to finding out how I’m supposed to help you, then I will.”

Pete looked at him, his eyes wide and shocked and a little bit awed.

Shakily, he reached out and took Patrick’s hand.

 

-

 

Pete left after that, work to do and a whole faction to run.

Patrick ate the food that he been left on the table. For the first time since he’d come back, he wanted to listen to music.

He found Joe in the mess hall, sitting at his usual table but with a lack of the usual company.

“Where is everyone?” He asked as he set across from Joe with a cup of water.

“It’s a rare day when they’re all on guard schedule,” Joe smirked, “And I’m not.”

“Sounds like you pulled a favor with Andy so you could have the table for yourself.” Patrick smiled, trying to hide it behind his cup by taking a drink.

“Who, me? Andy doesn’t love me enough to do that,” Joe said shiftily, though he could barely keep the smirk off his own lips, “But lets not talk about me. Let’s talk about what a little birdie told me.”

“And what did this little birdie tell you?”

“Something about one Wentz leaving your room this morning,” Joe lowered his voice, “Did you finally get him to talk to you?”

“Something like that.” Patrick shrugged a little, torn between discussing it with his best friend and keeping it secret for Pete. He settled on Pete’s side, because he knew if Pete shared their conversation with any of his friends, Patrick would have felt a little betrayed.

“I can’t really talk about it, but it was...good. I think we figured something out.”

“And Sandman?” Joe asked, leaning back but keeping his voice low, “He’s still being good?”

“He’s never been bad to me.” Patrick frowned, “Not once.”

“That’s because you’re special.” Joe laughed, going back to his normal voice and shoving a bowl of some sort of brown mush at Patrick, “Try that.”

They joked around and Patrick waited for Joe to finish eating and they’d begun walking before bringing up what he’d wanted to talk about the whole time.

“So, my mom’s picture and my music player are in my room with the stuff I kept from our apartment but like...I really love that music player, but I don’t think I can ever listen to it again. I don’t think I’d be able to get his face out of my head if I used it, but I...I really miss music, Joe. I know I said I never wanted to hear music again but-”

“Say no more.” Joe stopped, turned to Patrick and grabbed his shoulder, “Come with me, my friend. I’ve been waiting to show you this since we were still sitting in that stall.”

Patrick almost asked where exactly Joe was leading him but Joe’s smile was too genuinely large and excited, where it was usually sarcastic, that Patrick just went with it good-naturedly.

Joe led him through the twists and turns that were only slightly familiar, until they passed the door which led to Andy’s office-which led to Pete’s office. They passed it without pausing (well, Joe didn’t pause and he dragged Patrick’s faltering feet until he was speed walking again,), kept going past two more doors before Joe finally stopped at a sturdy looking door with more locks on it than Patrick was willing to count. It looked reinforced, more so than even Andy’s office door or any place Patrick had seen.

“This is a very special room. The most important in the whole compound. That’s why it’s so deep in, right next to the war room and the file system. Only a few people have the keys, but it’s opened for public use on weekdays and most of Saturday before it’s closed for maintenance. Since it’s Sunday, no one is in right now, but Pete won’t mind if we do.”

He produced his keyring - filled with keys of all different shapes and colors and patterns. He flipped through it for a few seconds until he came to the second longest key - covered in flaming guitars - and carefully wedged it into the mail lock. It must have been a skeleton key because most of the locks clicked open, except for the top one, which required the smallest key in his ring. Finally, a panel slid open and Joe clicked in a lightning fast code and scanned all five fingers of his left hand. The door opened without a sound, well cared for and well loved, and Joe stepped confidently into the darkness. Patrick paused at the doorway, touching the frame and spreading his hand wide to see just how thick the door was and while he was distracted, Joe flicked a switch and the lights came to life. The room was large, maybe half the size of the mess hall but filled with much more than just tables.

Instruments of every size and condition filled the space, with ample room to play them. It was like every rent-a-ment in Battery city had been moved from the hidden pocks of the ghettos and into this room. In the far corner was a small glass room of it’s own with what looked like a mixing table, connected to it was another small room with a microphone and stools.

“Is that…” Patrick asked, mouth dry, “Is that a recording…”

“Yes.” Joe grinned, “Look along the walls.”

Patrick did so, looked up at the walls and tried to catch his breath. What he’d thought at first was strangely patterned carpet was actually a neverending collection of small holes in the wall, filled with squares of plastic he’d only ever been able to look at, costing too much and needing an actual machine to play them.

“Are those…”

“Records. Records from before the Helium Wars, before Better Living. Records from now, from a few years ago, from a few days ago. If it has a copy, we have at least one of them here. It’s the largest collection of music in the fucking world. All protected by enduring plastic. What do you think?”

“It’s...it’s fucking…” Patrick didn’t have words.

“Joe, it’s fucking….”

“So you like it?” Pete asked from behind them. Joe turned but Patrick couldn’t tear his eyes away from the walls, the instruments, the _recording studio_ , none of it. There was so much creation in this single room, it made every inch of him tingle. He could hear the notes that had been and would be played, the millions of songs created, the tears and sweat and blood and love and hope that permeated every single atom of this room.

“It’s…” Patrick tried again, “Pete...Joe...I…”

“Yes, let’s assume he’s into it.” Andy broke in, shoving Pete into the room and strolling in like he owned the place, “Better yet, invite him to _play_ some of it.”

“I...really?” Patrick couldn’t help but ask. Andy didn’t seem to like him very much but he had to have known just how special music was to Patrick.

“Go,” Andy rolled his eyes.

Patrick went.

He went to sleep that night, for the second night in a row, without nightmares. Instead, his head was full of music and Pete’s thunderstruck face when Patrick had sung along to one song or another.

 

-

 

“Hey,” Patrick grumbled at the quiet hiss of the word, swatting at the insistent hand shaking his shoulder, “Hey, ‘trick, wake up.”

“Wha…” Patrick mumbled, blinking open his eyes, “‘ndman?”

“Not quite.” Pete’s voice finally broke through, “I’m going on a mission. Come with me.”

“What?” Patrick asked again, more clearly as he rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat from sleep.

“I’m going on a secret mission. Come with me.”

“Pete, it’s…” he looked at the clock, “It’s four in the morning, what the fuck?”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. You’ll love it.”

“I swear to God,” Patrick tried, but he could never say no to Pete, not after the last few months of friendship they’d been cultivating. Joe was still Patrick’s best friend, more than a friend and more like a brother, and they still hung out whenever possible, but Pete had become something...different for Patrick. Before, Patrick wouldn’t have said _no_ because Pete had saved his life. Now he couldn’t say it because Pete’s big brown eyes were staring at him pleadingly and he’d stuck his bottom lip out in a stupid looking pout.

“Oh my God,” He groaned and rolled out of bed, straight into the pants Pete shoved at him and the shoes Pete practically tied onto Patrick’s feet himself and out of the room.

“Pete, where the hell are we going?”

“Upwards,” Pete whispered back, taking Patrick’s hand and leading him towards the nearest exit to topside. Patrick hadn’t been topside in so long he’d nearly forgotten what life looked like, outside of the community he’d surrounded himself in.

“What? Pete, what? We’re going alone? What?”

“Yes,” Pete nodded, pushing his bag into Patrick’s arms, “Hold that. Don’t lose it, okay?”

“What is it?” Patrick slung it over his neck, made sure it was comfortable over his shoulder so it wouldn’t hinder any fleeing for his life, which he would no doubt be doing soon.

“Our mission.” Pete grinned, big and bright and enough to awestruck Patrick.

“Okay,” Patrick agreed without thought. Who could think with a smile like that aimed at them?

They walked for awhile longer, Patrick munching on the apple Pete had tossed his way once they were out of the compound and into the more uncharted tunnels. Pete, of course, knew them all by heart so Patrick didn’t worry a bit, but they were still a little creepy in the dim and faltering light and Patrick wasn’t the most graceful person in _good_ lighting, so he stuck close and watched carefully. He ignored the pounding of his heart at the thought of going back to the surface for the first time since…

“I haven’t been up since you brought me down.” he finally settled on saying, hoping that voicing a little of the fear would calm him down. His panicking attacks had been calming down more and more as he grew used to his surroundings and the constant feeling of safety that having Joe, Ash or Pete and Sandman around inspired in him, but the fear hadn’t quite gone away and thinking about returning to that other world, the world that had lose him his father, that had every resource available to lose him Pete as well.

“I’ll be with you the whole time.” Pete stopped in front of the ladder Patrick had a feeling would lead them upwards, “I promise. You’ll like this, it’s fucking fun and pretty.”

“I do like fun and pretty,” Patrick joked halfheartedly, “You really sure we’ll be fine?”

“Promise. Patrol in this area is lightest at four to five so we’ll have plenty of time. You coming?”

Patrick bit his lip but he finally nodded, “Yeah, okay, fine. But if I get one whiff of Better Living, we’re gone, okay?”

“Cross my heart.” Pete held out a hand and Patrick took it and shook.

They made it up the ladder and into the alley without trouble. Patrick’s first breath of outside air in months nearly sent his lungs into a weird frenzy of convulsions and he had to muffle his loud coughs into Pete’s coat while Pete rubbed his back until he was calm again.

“Air down there is cleaner, so it takes a little bit to get used to this dirty air again.” Pete whispered into his ear, “Take your time. We’re gonna have to start getting you used to coming and going so you aren’t locked away down there in case something happens. This will be our test run, right?”

“Ugh,” Patrick made a noise of discontent but didn’t argue. Pete was probably right and eventually, they might have need for Patrick to go topside. If whatever he needed to help Pete and Sandman with was up here, he needed to be just as street savvy as he was tunnel savvy.

“So how is Andy treating you?” Pete asked when they had recovered and begun walking. Pete had chosen a neighborhood across the city from where Patrick had once lived, probably specifically so they wouldn’t come across Patrick’s old complex. He was thankful for that, and thankful for the smalltalk Pete usually hated but was initiating for Patrick’s sake so Patrick played along and tried to let it soothe his nerves.

“Okay. He’s much more educated than me, so I’m playing catch up, but I think the kids think it’s funny to watch him yell at me more than them for getting something wrong.”

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” Pete laughed, “I know it took you awhile to get used to everything. You’ve really found your place though.”

“Just not in the guards,” Patrick sighed.

“Not everyone is a fighter or a medic,” Pete explained, for what must have been the millionth time, “You aren’t a fighter, ‘trick, and you aren’t a Bones. You’re a behind the scenes kind of guy. You work well with me and Andy when we’re strategizing. You’ve got no clue how many lives you save just by offering a different suggestion than we could think of. You’re a fresh pair of eyes on a game we’ve played too long to look at from a new angle.”

“I just wish there was more I could do.” Patrick admitted, “I barely help in your secret circle of rebel planny stuff, Andy’s obviously a better teacher than I’ll ever be. The best I can do is-”

“Exactly what you’re doing.” Pete cut in, shoving against his shoulder playfully, “You’ll find your place. Like you said, right? We’ll find it together. Now stop worrying, this is supposed to be fun.”

Patrick blinked at him a few times before finally sighing fondly, “You’re actually five. Fine, then, Pete. Take me on this fun adventure.”

Pete laughed, a little too loudly for the white streets they walked, but Patrick didn’t think he had the heart to make him stop.

Pete led them deeper into Better Living’s center, not close enough that they were in any true danger, but deep enough that Patrick was beginning to get prickly feelings in his fingers. When it got to the point that Patrick didn’t think he could go any farther, he tugged at Pete’s sleeve and Pete winked at him.

“This is a good place,” He whispered, just loud enough for Patrick to understand if he read his lips too. Patrick wanted to ask what he was talking about, but Pete opened the bag at Patrick’s hip and, instead of answering his unspoken question, pulled out a few cans.

It took Patrick a few seconds, but he finally understood and felt a little bit of elation shoot through him.

They were going to cover the white.

“You paint?” Pete asked, to which Patrick shook his head, “Watch me, then you try, okay?”

“Okay.” Patrick barely got out, feeling too excited to properly respond. He watched as Pete shook a can hard and uncapped it. Pete sized up the blank, white space they’d chosen for a few seconds before he made a wide arch with what looked like gray in the dimness of the flashlight Pete had set into his mouth so he could see.

Patrick watched him work for nearly half an hour, shake cans and throw them aside when he was done for Patrick to frantically catch before they hit the ground and made noise. Finally, he was done and they stepped back and shined lights together to see the full picture.

“It’s a sunrise.” Patrick mused out loud, smiling a little. It was all oranges and purples and grays, the sun shining a bright yellow and outlined with a white to pure to be Better Living.

“You’re turn.” Pete offered one of the cans and Patrick took it, thinking hard. He couldn’t draw, not like Pete or any of the others, but it still came to him in a flash, just what he wanted to do.

“Remember when you showed me that radio show out in the desert? WKIL or something?”

“Yeah?” Pete asked with a knowing grin.

“Remember what he said while we were listening and you were telling me about that thing with the music and the Dracs?”

“How the music fucks with them?”

“Yeah,” Patrick nodded, shaking the can hard.

His movements were quick but careful. Even if it leaked a little and wasn’t as professionally done as Pete’s, he still felt amazing when he finally dropped the can, let it make as much noise as it wanted.

“Make some noise,” Pete read, voice growing in volume.

“Do it now and do it loud.” Patrick agreed, not even needing to read, his own voice losing the previous silence.

“The future is bulletproof! The aftermath is secondary!” They shouted together, as loudly as they could. An alarm went up only a few seconds after their voices had died in the quiet of the morning air but they were already gone, leaving trails of paint along every surface they could get to, the sidewalk and the road and the walls and windows, signs and cars, covering the white.

The future was bulletproof, but they weren’t, so they disappeared when the Dracs had begun to outnumber even Sandman’s skill level.

“That was amazing.” Patrick breathed out when they made it back to the compound, “That was amazing, Pete!”

“I know,” Pete laughed, looking at Patrick in that way he always did when they were alone, like Patrick had just made that sunrise on the wall come to life.

For the first time, Patrick sort of felt like he _could._

 

-

 

“Hey,” Joe set next to Patrick with a weird smile, “So, I sort of have a mission coming up.”

“Oh?” Patrick asked distractedly, still going over the last report Pete had given him to fix up for the day. Pete had decided last week that they’d be reviving an old tradition that had begun long before his time but had ended a little after Yeezus’ had begun which involved a night long party to celebrate living for a month longer. Everyone was invited and the guard shifts would be more numerous but for shorter shifts so everyone would get the chance to go. Patrick was a little bit excited for it since it fell on the eve of his birthday and, though he didn’t expect anyone to recall, he still liked the coincidence. The year before, Pete, Joe and Andy had written a whole album as a surprise for him and they’d recorded it over the course of a week, nearly camping out in the music room so it would be done exactly on his birthday. This year, he didn’t think anyone would remember due to the drama of the party and all of the small things that had begun to go wrong in the usually seamless operations Travie and Gabe were known for. It was hard to believe, sometimes, that he’d managed to find some place where he truely felt like he belonged and was able to _stay_ there, for almost two years now.

“Yeah, see, and it involved me being gone for...maybe two, possibly three weeks, tops.”

“What?” Patrick dropped the report.

“No, see, it isn’t even dangerous, I swear,” Joe opened his hand, and held it up in a swear, “It’s just, Pete and Beyoncé and Andy and I, we have to go out to the desert for a few weeks to meet up with a caravan who is supposed to be holding some really valuable shit and we sort of need it for that experiment Andy’s been working on.”

“Can’t you take me with you?” Patrick set up from his reclined position, “Don’t leave me here.”

“I wanted to,” Joe said immediately, “I totally wanted to take you with us, but the guy in the caravan said the three of us, no one else and none of us missing, or it would be no deal. He wanted to speak with the leader and he’d heard of his bodyguards. There’s probably gonna be a trap or some stupid shit so Andy and I are going along with Beyoncé, who will follow a little behind us. She thought it would be a bad idea to tell you but I really didn’t think it was something we should just spring on you.”

“When?” Patrick choked out, “When are you leaving?”

“Two weeks.” Joe set next to him on the bed and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, “And then we’ll only be gone for like two weeks, maybe three if there’s a problem. I just wanted you to know that we weren’t going to leave you all alone though. I know a guy. I know him pretty well, and he’s good, so I’m putting him in charge of your protection while we’re gone. You’ll like him.”

“Who?” Patrick asked weakly, feeling a little woozy. He’d known that eventually he’d end up alone at some point or another, just because all of his friends were high ranking individuals with busy jobs and busy lives, but he didn’t think it would be so...soon.

“His name is Mike. Mike Pedicone. You’ll meet him tonight at the party and I’ll start integrating him into our usual schedule so when I leave it won’t be a major system shock. It’ll be totally normal for you, okay?”

“Yeah, except all of my best friends are gone.” Patrick frowned, looking at his lap, “This is so fucking stupid. I told you I needed to learn how to fight.”

“And you will.” Joe said firmly, “As soon as we get back, you and I are gonna start training one on one. Maybe you won’t last in a ring with Bee, but you’ll last in a ring with me for awhile by the time we’re done. And we still have two weeks. Maybe thing’s’ll change.”

“Yeah.” Patrick huffed a little, knowing that he sounded like the dumb seventeen year old he was soon to be but not caring, “Maybe.”

Joe had to leave due to some preparations he had to make for his absence in a few weeks and once he left, Patrick finished up his report and climbed under his sheets for a ‘need to cool down’ nap.

He woke up to Sandman.

“I’m so mad at you.” He muttered when he blinked open his eyes to meet the black abyss that were Sandman’s eyes.

“I understand,” Sandman nodded, “But there’s nothing I or Pete can do. It was _her_ call.”

“Still,” Patrick mumbled, sitting up carefully and icily accepting the coffee Sandman offered, because he wanted coffee and not because he had forgiven Sandman _or_ Pete.

“We will be back soon enough, Patrick.” Sandman rolled his eyes, not that it was easy to tell since they were all the same color.

“No.” Patrick frowned, “You won’t be back soon enough. I don’t want you to go.”

“You sound like a kid.”

“I’m an _adult_.” Patrick whined snottily, just to see the amused tweak of Sandman’s lips. Pete was usually always smiling and his face looked weird without that smile, but with Sandman’s eyes, the smile looked out of place. Even despite sharing the same face, they used the body so differently that Patrick hardly needed to see their eyes to know just who he was speaking to.

“In the loosest sense of the word.” Sandman agreed, “Now stop whining. You’re supposed to be having a party or some shit tonight, right?”

“I guess,” Patrick shrugged, “Not really in the partying mood. Can I ask you a question?”

“I guess,” Sandman rolled his eyes again but Patrick ignored him and sipped at his coffee.

“Why do people call you insane?” He finally asked, downing the last of the brown sludge so he could set the mug aside and focus on Sandman.

Sandman laughed a little, still _wrong_ but sounding _right_ somehow. Patrick had given up trying to understand why the things Sandman did didn’t freak him out like he knew they should have.

“Because I’m an unknown who is _much_ more powerful than them.” He answered with another one of those smiles. Patrick could practically see the fangs dripping from his mouth. He blinked and they were gone.

“So they fear your power?”

“And that I’m insane.” Sandman nodded, “Not everyone is as fond of me as you, Patrick. No one else has the level of regard I have for you. Do you understand?”

“So you act differently with me?” Patrick guessed, to which Sandman shrugged admittingly.

“Yeah, sure. That’s a good way to put it.”

“Joe found me a new bodyguard while you all would be gone.”

“What?” That managed to get Sandman’s attention and Patrick was still a little warmed, even in his sadness that they’d tried to hide their departure from him, that he could get that rise from him.

“Pedi-something. Joe told me he was like top in his class so he’s gonna take over as my guard while you are all away.”

“Why aren’t Gabe and Travis being put on you? Or any of their teams?”

“Because of all the mishaps,” Patrick guess, shrugging, “things have been going so wrong lately that it wouldn’t make sense to take even one of them off their team to watch over me down here. So I get Pedi-something for a few weeks.”

Sandman didn’t say anything but he gripped Patrick’s ankle tight in his fingers and, somehow, that made Patrick relax.

“We _will_ be back. And this Pedi-something better take good care of you.”

Patrick laughed a little, finally dropping the angry exterior, “I’m not five, Sandman. I can take care of myself.”

“As long as it isn’t dark, there are no Dracs, the path is straight and cleared and you know exactly where you are.” Sandman agreed. Patrick blushed, but he couldn’t help but laugh at the joke. Sandman joked around so rarely, even with Patrick, that anything, even at Patrick’s expense, deserved some acknowledgment.

“Don’t be a jerk,” Patrick rolled his eyes, “We’ve only got two more weeks together and then you and the others are off to have some fun adventure while I’m stuck here.”

“Pete’s putting you in charge of reports,” Sandman offered, “Gabe and Travie will report directly to you. You’re not in _charge_ , but you’ll always be in the know, in case there is an emergency. Then you just send a message to Dr. Death Defying and he’ll message us over his radio.”

“So Pedi-something won’t be with me all the time.” Patrick sighed, feeling a little better. He’d never met Pedi-something before and the thought of waking up to a stranger in his room was upsetting, to say the least, “And I’m not giving him the key to my room.”

“No,” Sandman nearly growled, squeezing Patrick’s ankle tighter, “He will not have that.”

Patrick flushed and tried to frown, but that stupid, giddy feeling in his stomach like it was making a home upstairs to the fear and anger that had taken residence but seemed to be on a prolonged vacation with random visits home, made him smile.

“Shouldn’t I decide that?” He teased, placing a calming hand on Sandman’s when it tightened around his ankle again.

“No,” Sandman said firmly, “Only we can have that key.”

“Okay,” Patrick agreed, “My new protection detail isn’t allowed to have a key.”

Sandman’s hand relaxed but didn’t let go. Patrick really didn’t want him to, anyway.

They set in silence for a few more hours, until Sandman went to sleep and Pete came out to play with a soft jerk of his body and the clearing of his eyes. Pete led him out into the private rooms where he was holding his own, smaller party specifically for Patrick’s birthday and Patrick tried to let go and enjoy himself, hoping that the feeling that things were about to go horribly wrong would go away.

 

-

 

“This is the war room,” Pete monotoned as he flipped a switch and flung an arm out dramatically. It was large, not quite as large as the music room next door, but large enough to house a number of people and a big, sturdy table in the middle of the floor.

“It’s...nice.” Patrick agreed, looking around, “Why are we here again?”

“I’m showing you how you’ll get your updates,” Pete pouted, dropping his arm, “Be more excited, please.”

“Ugh, how can I be excited? You’re all leaving me for like a month. Even Andy is going and he hates the desert.”

“I could just imagine you and Hurley hanging out while Joe and I were gone,” Pete laughed a little too hard for Patrick’s taste.

“We could get along,” Patrick argued, crossing his arms.

“You would not,” Pete laughed again and led him deeper into the room and to the table. He hovered his hand over the center for a few seconds and the tabletop lit up a light green. Text screens began to appear along the surface, the most prominent being the one in front of Pete.

“Okay, so maybe his hobby is tormenting me, but it’s a _friendly_ torment. He cares about me, deep down.”

“Yeah,” Pete teased, “Deep, deep down. Listen up, Stumpster, I’m gonna explain this doohikey to you.”

“I’m not five,” Patrick muttered, feeling like he’d already announced this fact to Sandman a couple of days ago.

“Well you aren’t fluent in high tech tables, either, so,” Pete smirked at him. Patrick shoved at him and Pete laughed his dumb donkey laugh at him until Patrick gave up and settled in to listen to him.

Pete explained how to turn the table on and off, how the reports were typed and sent directly to the mainframe, which had a direct link to the table, and how he was supposed to find the reports, read them and then record them into one of the pre-organized forms that Pete used.

“So why is there so much paperwork?” Patrick asked, once the explaining was done and Pete and he had retired to Pete’s bedroom to relax in the dark of the room. They usually hung out in Patrick’s room but Patrick secretly preferred Pete’s because the bed was bigger and softer and the room was usually cooler or warmer, depending on what Patrick wanted from his own room.

“So we have organized, physical copies of incidents and happenings. If something happened to our computer system and it was all destroyed, we’d still have records of it. We have reports in this format from almost before Better Living even showed up. It’s sort of like a legacy for the future. So-and-so destroyed this and so-and-so sacrificed himself to take down this base or that supplies ship.”

“Do you think my parents are in there? Somewhere?” Patrick asked curiously, thinking on it.

“Definitely,” Pete nodded, looking away from the ceiling to meet Patrick’s eyes. They’d been laying side by side, both looking up at the dark of the rock above them, but when he felt Pete’s eyes, he turned his own head. They were closer than he’d thought and he could feel Pete’s breathe pass his face with each soft exhale. It made him shiver, but Pete hardly noticed. His eyes hadn’t drifted from Patrick’s since Patrick had looked at him. It made Patrick’s stomach feel funny and his skin hot but it wasn’t a _bad_ hot, wasn’t anything like the burning that took over his limbs in the throes of panic or anger. It was nice, comfortable and warm and pleasing to feel. He liked feeling it, even with the confused it caused. He knew he _liked_ Pete, a lot more than he probably should have, but he wasn’t sure exactly what he was meant to _do_ about that. Growing up, he’d always been told that Better Living would do their best to find him the right mate, the right person who matched his personality to the letter so they would always be happy. Pete didn’t always make Patrick happy. Sometimes, he’d say or do things that were a little insensitive, or triggered some memory in Patrick that had him crying in his room under his blankets for hours. Sometimes he got angry or frustrated and he’d snap at Patrick, which usually led into big fights where somebody would say something they didn’t mean and would lead to groveling for days at a time until they were forgiven. But even when they fought or had to go days without seeing each other because of some mission or another, Patrick still loved him, still wanted to be around him, even if it was just angrily sitting in a room and glaring at each other.

“Patrick?” Pete asked, like he’d been asking for a few seconds now.

“Hm?” Patrick blinked, came back to the real world, to see that Pete had gotten a lot closer while he’d been thinking.

“Would it be weird if…” He came a little closer and Patrick’s breath hitched.

“Nope,” He got out, “Not weird.”

“Good.” Pete nodded a little and finally closed that distance between them. It was Patrick’s first kiss and Pete knew that so it was soft and chaste and Patrick couldn’t think of anything besides the fact that Pete was _kissing_ him. _Pete._ Kissing _him._ He didn’t know if he was doing it right but he didn’t want to be too overeager and like bite Pete or something, so he just pressed back enough that he hoped Pete would understand. Of course Pete did, because Pete knew Patrick better than probably anyone else, except maybe Joe, but Patrick didn’t want to think about Joe right then.

Pete’s hand came to rest on Patrick’s hip and Patrick wondered if Pete felt the shiver that worked its way hard down his spine. They moved closer and closer until their bodies were like their lips, pressed together carefully. It was a little drier than he’d imagined, until Pete guided him into opening his mouth and introducing their tongues into the mix.

They made out for what could have been minutes or hours. Pete never moved farther than kissing, which was good because Patrick was feeling a little overwhelmed from the feelings that just the gentle brush of lips and tongue were bringing to the surface after so long of holding them silent. Finally, though, Patrick blinked open his eyes and nudged his forehead against Pete’s until Pete’s eyes had opened too and they were looking at each other again. They’d looked at each other often in the many months that they had known each other, but it had never been from such a close vantage point. Never had Patrick been close enough to count the flecks of gold in Pete’s eyes or the way his mouth stretched into the small, quiet smile Patrick had only seen when they were alone, like Sandman’s jokes. He’d never been able to count each light freckle on Pete’s nose or feel the way his stubble roughened against Patrick’s smooth skin. He didn’t think he ever wanted to _stop_ being close enough to see and feel those things.

“That was good.” Pete finally stuttered, his face beginning to flush under his tan.

“Good. Nice.” Patrick agreed, his own cheeks going red. Okay, so it was getting awkward. Patrick didn’t want awkward, not after that. Things with Pete hadn’t been _awkward_ since that conversation in his bedroom.

“So, um,” Pete set up carefully, though it didn’t look like he was trying to get _away_ from Patrick, “I’ve...wanted to do that for awhile.”

“Yeah?” Patrick set up too, couldn’t help the smile at those words, “I sort of wanted to, too.”

“Yeah?” Pete repeated, a matching grin stretching at his lips.

“Yeah,” Patrick nodded again, his stupid, cheesy grin making his cheeks hurt. He couldn’t find it in him to care. His heart was beating so fast it almost felt like it was trying to escape, to get out of his chest and burrow into Pete’s, to beat next to his.

“Shit,” Pete laughed, breaking the silence that had fallen over them again, “Shit. Is this gonna be weird now?”

“I don’t want it to be.” Patrick offered, “I really like you and...well, I figured, we already….why does anything have to _change_ , right? We can just...add this to what we already do, right?”

“Because I’m Pete Wentz, ‘trick. I’m the leader of the most powerful faction in Bat City and any minute I could die.”

“And I’m BL’s most wanted, Pete. I could too. I’ve learned a lot in the last few years, Pete. People die. People you _love_ die, just like that. You can be eating dinner one moment and having them bleed out in your arms the next. I know either one of us could die at any moment. I know all of our friends could be killed this instant and there’s nothing I can do about it.” He shrugged, reached out and gripped Pete’s hand, reveled in the way Pete gripped his fingers back just as tight, “You...we don’t lead safe lives, Pete. I’m okay with that. If what I have this second is all gone the next, I won’t regret that second for as long as I live.”

Pete kissed him again and Patrick kissed back, content in a way he hadn’t ever felt before.

They laid like that, together in the quiet of the room, kissing softly when they felt like it and cradling the new, fragile thing that had been created between them so recently like it could break at any moment. Eventually, though, Pete’s eyes began to flash back and forth between warm brown and complete blackness and he made an annoying, grunting noise.

“Sandman says it’s his turn.”

Patrick laughed and rubbed the pads of his fingers against Pete’s jaw, kissing his chin, “Okay. I’ll still be here when you switch back.”

“I know. I doubt he’d let you leave.” Pete smirked a little and leaned down to kiss Patrick again, comfortable and confident like he had been doing it for years instead of just hours. Patrick couldn’t blame him, leaning up just as eagerly to accept his lips, to press into the gentle hands resting against his side and jaw, titling him just right to fit against Pete. The kiss changed midway and Patrick hadn’t thought about what it would be like to kiss Sandman, not really, not while he’d been focused on Pete, but when the pressure increased and the fingers against his skin had grown even more possessive, he’d gotten the knowledge anyhow. Sandman _claimed_ Patrick, explored his mouth and the skin Patrick would let him have without even a ‘hello’, not until Patrick finally broke away with a gasp so he could pant air back into his lungs.

“Finally,” Sandman muttered, Pete’s eyes having been replaced upon Patrick’s quick inspection, “I’d been telling him to do that for months.”

“You have not,” Patrick laughed, hooking their fingers together just to see if Sandman would let him like Pete did. Surprisingly, Sandman _did_ , though he drew the line at letting Patrick rub his knuckles with his thumb.

He loved Pete and Sandman both, because you couldn’t love one without the other, but he hadn’t known he could _like_ Sandman like he liked Pete until that kiss, until his breath had been stolen for a second time.

For now, though, he didn’t focus on any of that, on anything outside of the rough lips against his and the way he felt so fucking _safe_ that it was almost _dangerous._

They’d be leaving soon, a day or two, and this would be the last chance Patrick got to show Pete and Sandman both how much he cared for them, how much he didn’t want them to go, and how much he would miss him.

 

-

 

Pedicone was nice. He was tall, broad and strong with a shaved head and a friendly smile. Patrick liked him, could see how Joe thought he’d make a good match for Patrick in his absence, but he wasn’t Joe so Patrick couldn’t really accept him as anything other than a dude who followed him around sometimes while he and Joe hung out. Still, he appreciated his presence while he said goodbye.

“So this is really shitty timing,” Pete muttered as soon as he leaned down to kiss Patrick. Patrick just shrugged and hugged him tight.

“As soon as you get back, we can talk it all out, okay?”

“Please, it’ll be at least a week before we get any _talking_ done. Feel free to use my bed if you get lonely, though.” Pete teased, eyes flashing black for just a few seconds, Sandman’s own farewell.

He was passed to Joe next, who he hugged and punched in the gut at the same time. Joe shoved at him and laughed.

“I leave you two alone for a few hours…” he teased, but Patrick didn’t rise to the bait, just grinned wide at him.

“Be safe, asshole. I want you back in two pieces at the most, one of which with a pulse.”

“You, too. You’d better be okay when we get back or poor Pedicone will pay for it.” Joe highfived him and Patrick moved onto Andy while Joe and Pete were making goodbyes with Travie and Gabe and their teams.

“So, um,” Patrick shifted awkwardly and grinned at Andy, “But be safe, man. Don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you fucking with me..”

“Shut up,” Andy rolled his eyes but he still slapped Patrick on the back, “Don’t go soft on me now, Stump. You’re good for him. The two of you could be a good power couple, I think. The community down here, they respect him and they love and follow him but they can’t connect with him like they do with you. You make him more human to them. Don’t fucking die while we’re gone or I swear to the city itself that I’ll hunt your ghost down and fucking haunt you.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Patrick grinned and bumped their knuckles together, “Thanks, though, Andy. I, um, I’m sort of glad you...approve or whatever.”

“Whatever. Just fucking listen to your bodyguard and you should be fine.”

They had to leave soon after that and, with one last kiss and high five from Pete and Joe respectively, they were gone. Beyoncé had left the day before to scout ahead and Patrick was both sad that he hadn’t gotten to say goodbye and a little pleased that he’d gotten to put off having her confront him about his new found relationship with her son.

“Hurley left a schedule,” Pedicone interrupted his thoughts, “But Joe said I should just throw it out because you won’t follow it.”

“He’s probably right,” Patrick agreed, trying to settle into the feeling that he was exposed.

“He’s definitely right,” Gabe smirked, draping himself over Patrick’s shoulders like a fucking snake, “Don’t worry, Michael, go ahead and take the day off. My team and I are off for the day so we’ll take over Pattycakes-watching duties.”

“Are you sure-” Pedicone tried, but Patrick just waved him off with a smile.

“Go on, Pedicone. I’ll be just fine with them. I’ll meet you at my door tomorrow morning, okay?”

“Okay…” Pedicone agreed reluctantly, “Ten, sharp. Right?”

“Right.” Patrick agreed, “Thanks, Pedicone.”

“No problem, Patrick.” He waved, still looking a little unsure, and jogged off, out of the room and towards what was probably the gym.

“So, Stumpster,” Gabe teased, flicking his fingers against Patrick’s hat like a snake’s tongue. Patrick had found, while looking through the old records a few weeks back, a number of pictures of his mother and father when they were younger, around Pete’s age or even his own, it looked. In every one, his mother wore some sort of hat or another so Patrick had decided to adopt the trend, hoping it would make him feel closer to her. It had, so it had stuck and even though people had teased him at first, it had quickly just grown to become a part of his personality that everyone had known. The guy with the hats. “You feelin’ a-okay?”

“Yeah,” Patrick agreed after a few seconds of actually letting himself feel, “Yeah, I think so. I feel really exposed, with all of them gone, but I’m sure it will settle down. No panic, not yet.”

“Good,” Victoria shoved Gabe away and wrapped her arm around his shoulders instead, grinning wide, “Now come on, let’s go teach some shit to kids while Andy is gone.”

Surprisingly, Andy had left the teaching position in Patrick’s hands while he was away. Patrick didn’t think he was very _good_ at it, but this group was set to leave next week, onto the next part of the journey to Australia, so their schooling was coming to a close with the last of the alphabet and learning basic division - both of which Patrick could do.

Ryland and Alex stuck along while Gabe and Nate went with Travie’s group went to assist in a small scale crash-and-grab.

“And that, you see my dears,” Ryland struck a pose, much to the amusement of the children surrounding the four of them, “Is how our heroic and eternal Gabriel Saporta saved my life.”

“Wow!” One of the Alexes cried out in amazement, “He really defeated all of those Cobra bots on his own?”

“Gabe is the best.” Alex whispered loudly, “He goes around saving lives and kicking Better Living butt.”

“I want to do that when I’m grown up!” One of the other Alexes yelled, standing to strike a pose just like Ryland. All of his little Alex friends clamored around him, the five of them soon turning into a pile of limbs. There were only boys in this group, the girls having been moved long ago to keep them safer or already incorporated into the Young Blood faction and working or training, and their schooling would take place later in the day, after dinner. In the streets, Patrick had learned, it was usually girls who were taken more than boys, and sent to train with the Vixens. Usually when the groups of kids came in, girls were taken almost immediately out into the desert to add to the already moving caravan while the boys waited until the next one was ready to go, or were given the choice of staying with the Young Bloods and learning how to fight against Better Living. The boys would be sent days or even weeks later, if the caravans ran behind or had to be stopped due to Better Living involvement.

“What about you, Patrick?” Taylor asked, looking away from the game he and the two brothers, Zac and Josh, were playing.

“What?” Patrick blinked, “About me?”

“How’d you get here?” Adam “Call me Sisky” asked, “Vicky and Ryland and Suarez all told us. What about you?”

“Oh.” Patrick said, feeling his fingertips tingle just a little, “I, um,”

“Patrick doesn’t like to talk about it.” Victoria broke in gently, “Sometimes stuff sticks with you. You all know that, I’d guess.” No one said anything and she continued, “Patrick doesn’t like to bring up his past. It’s enough that he’s here to teach all of you, right?”

“Right,” Ryland shoved a hand onto Patrick’s head and ruffled his hair through his hat, “Mrs. Wentz here is all about the present. Right, Pat-a-rick?”

“Right,” Patrick swatted at his hand and took a breathe, “But I don’t think I’d mind telling them. I think I could do it.”

“You don’t have to.” Tyler, one of the older kids but also one of the smaller, broke in, “Josh and I will make everyone leave you alone.”

Patrick laughed, feeling the tingling slowly leave. It was okay to talk about it, he thought. It had happened a long time ago, now, and it was time that he stopped making himself suffer over it in silence.

“That’s very nice of you,” He squeezed Tyler’s shoulder and laughed at the expression on the other Josh’s face, a mix between annoyance that he’d been, once again, volunteered for a job and the knowledge that he’d do it because his best friend asked him to. Patrick knew that feeling, and he was more thankful every day that he did, “But I think I can do it. I know you’ll protect me, right?”

The chorus of ‘right!’ made all of them laugh, Ryland and Suarez loudest of all. Patrick set on the floor with them and crossed his legs.

“Well, my mom and dad, they were on a top secret mission when I was born. It was so secret that not even _I_ knew about it. See, my mom died when I was very young, still a baby. My dad raised me, even though he had no idea how,” Patrick couldn’t help but laugh, looking back. At the time, he’d thought his dad just hadn’t cared. Knowing that throughout his childhood, his dad _had_ loved him, more than a lot of things he held important, put a new light on the once dark memories.

“When I was ten, I snuck out and almost got caught in a big escape attempt, back when not everyone knew that they could send their kids to a faction to be safely taken out of the city. When I got home, I was so scared that BL were going to come and take me away. They didn’t, but I never snuck out again. I met Joe when I was a little older and he introduced me to _music_. Do you guys like music?”

“Jeremy said he’d teach us how to play some instruments before we go.” Sisky said sharply, “Will he?”

“Yes.” Patrick agreed, “He definitely will. Music is the most important thing in the world. It means hope and that is the only thing Better Living can’t stand. Sometimes, just singing can hurt a Drac worse than shooting it.”

“Really!?” One of the Alexes asked in shock, “How?”

“Because Better Living is all about trying to tear us down,” Victoria broke in, “They get their power from making us feel powerless. Music is creation and creation comes from hope. Every time you draw a picture or sing a song, paint on the walls, that’s rebelling against Better Living. Just by being yourself, you’re telling them they can’t control you, no matter what they do.”

“Joe introduces me to that,” Patrick smiled, thinking back, “It was...incredible. I loved it. He even snuck me out so we could go see a band play. But then…”

He clutched Victoria’s hand until the tingles went away again and ignored that all of their eyes had settled onto him, waiting.

“My father was...very brave. He exposed his secret to uncover a huge secret of theirs and he hid it away so no one could find it, not even us. When they found out, they attacked us at my home and they killed him. They would have killed me too, but…”

He smiled a little, couldn’t help it at the thought of Pete, “But then Pete came and saved me. He lead his team in and beat up all of them and he took me away, to live down here. It was all very dramatic, the rescue.”

“Wow...he rescued you?” Other Josh asked, eyes wide.

“Like a princess.” Tyler said dreamily.

Patrick couldn’t help but laugh, thinking about it, “Now that you mention it. He was like my knight in shining armor, wasn’t he?”

“Did you fall in love like the stories say?” Sisky butted in, waving around one of the hard backed fairy tale books they’d managed to salvage from an old, pre-BL museum they’d discovered months ago. There was a picture of a pretty, blurry girl in a tall tower, golden strands of hair falling so far down that it brushed against the green, fuzzy grass below the high window. A figure in armor stood below, looking up at her. Patrick had read it so many times to the group that he had the whole thing memorized.

“Well,” He blushed, “You see, I…”

“Yes.” Suarez finally broke in, smirking, “And they do gross, coupley things like kiss and hold hands.”

“Like three times!” Patrick covered his face, “Just shut up.”

Ryland laughed and started leading the children in a teasing rendition of ‘Patrick and Pe-ete, sittin’ in a tree!’

At least they were practicing their spelling. Secretly, Patrick didn’t mind all that much.

 

-

 

Patrick slept in Pete’s room most nights. That first night, though it had only been a few hours since they’d left, he could _feel_ their absence. Joe hadn’t been there to wish him a goodnight, Pete hadn’t sent him a text asking him if he wanted to get a late night snack and even Andy was glaringly missing, no one else giving Patrick a hard time quite like him. He’d given up sleeping in his own bed a few hours after saying goodnight to Ash, Suarez and Ryland, but the moment he laid his head on Pete’s familiar pillow, enfolded himself into the familiar scents of both Pete and Sandman, he was out. Days and days later, his routine hadn’t changed much at all, except that Pedicone met him outside of the offices instead of in front of his own door.

On the day that he’d been both dreading and was excited for, the loud knocking of one Travie McCoy finally pulled him from the fitful rest.

“Angelcakes,” Travie sung, “Open up.”

“It’s open,” Patrick yawned, rubbing his eyes and watching blearily as the door flew open and Travie and Gabe both walked in.

“The caravan will be outside the gates tonight for pick up.” Travie intoned, flopping onto the bottom of the bed and not even making a noise when Gabe toppled directly on top of him.

“Good,” Patrick smiled, scrubbing the last of the sleep from his face, “Are the kids ready? When will you leave?”

“Around twelve, tonight.” Gabe hummed, obviously pleased at his position and the dimness of the room. Pete didn’t use his position often, but the one place he’d abused his power a little bit was his room - It was decked out in rich red, from the wine color of the walls to the thick, crimson blanket and pillows and even the dark lampshade, which stained any light from that source a gentle red. Patrick had gotten used to waking up to one or both of Pete’s right-hand men on some part of the bed with him, just basking in the dark, warm room.

“They’re as ready as they can be.” Travie finished for him, “They don’t want to go but they understand they have to.”

“We’ll throw a little party for them.” Patrick decided, laying back down to think it over, “I would really love if they stayed, but Australia is safer.”

“Much safer,” Gabe agreed, “Besides, they’d probably do more good, there. We get kids in every day, but Australia has to care for the _little_ ones, until they’re old enough to choose to stay or come back.”

Travie reached over and patted Patrick’s hand, “I get it, man. We all get groups that we just connect with. It sucks to let ‘em go, but they’re happier and safer away from here and BL.”

“I get it,” Patrick sighed, “Okay, we’ll go finish the last of the lesson and maybe find some chocolate for all of them.”

“I’ll make sure the cooks on duty don’t send too much.” Gabe promised, making Patrick smile.

“Thanks, Gabe.”

“Come on, little dude. Time to get up and go about your day as the pretend leader of the Young Bloods.”

“Ugh, don’t even joke. When are they coming back? It’s been a long time right, so they should be back soon?”

“Next week,” Gabe shook a finger at Patrick, “That isn’t how time works, young man, so don’t go confusing it.”

“Confusing time?” Travie asked, shoving Gabe off of him so he could stand up.

“Confusing the world.” Gabe agreed sagely, much to Patrick’s amusement.

“Sorry, world,” Patrick mocked, crawling out of the bed and shoving his jeans back on, “Didn’t mean to confuse you.”

“Thank you,” Gabe sniffed, “Now off with you, shrinking responsibilities. There are reports for you to read over and file and Shakira wants a word with you since Andy and Beyoncé are both away.

“Oh no,” Patrick frowned, “Those ladies aren’t all that into me. Why don’t you and Travie go ask whats up? I’ll get started on the reports.”

“Weeeell,” Gabe smirked, “If you do us a favor, we might be able to help you out this one time.”

“And what favor would that be?” Patrick smiled, pushing his glasses on and adjusting the hat he’d taken to wearing more often than the others.

“Come with us to drop the kids with the caravan.” Travie grinned, “So we can show you your first taste of the desert.”

“What?” Patrick paused, blinking at them, “You want _me_ to go with you?”

“Yes,” Gabe nodded, “Definitely. I want to see Pete’s face when we tell him we took you to the desert first. It’ll be hilarious.”

“And if I do you’ll go talk to Beyonce’s crew so they don’t hate me for not being able to help them with fighty stuff?”

“Promise,” Travie nodded, offering a hand.

Patrick rolled his eyes but took his hand and shook.

 

-

 

Pedicone was waiting for him when he finished with the reports and had filed them away.

“The schedule says you have to go check in with the soldiers,” He said in exasperation, “And you’re three hours late for that meeting.”

“Yeah, well,” Patrick smiled, shrugging a little, “Let’s go do it now. I’m sure they won’t mind.”

Pedicone threw up his hands but he still followed Patrick down the hall towards the barracks. Patrick had to admit that Pedicone was doing pretty well, considering. Patrick wasn’t the easiest person to keep track of, given his tendencies to run off at the slightest chance to check out whatever it was that had distracted him. He got scared easily and was pretty clumsy, but Patrick was no less a troublemaker than any of his friends and Pedicone had had to learn that the hard way; through following Patrick as he completely destroyed the schedule Andy had no doubt spent very long on so Patrick could cover three different jobs in the same day and through his little misadventures getting lost in the tunnels and in the filing rooms and in the barracks and in the - it would be better to say that Patrick got lost quite often, and he probably would still be wandering the filing room hopelessly had Pedicone not been there to lead him out. He would have felt bad, but Joe had probably warned Pedicone before he’d taken the job so all Patrick could do was include his new bodyguard in his activities until his regular ones came home.

“Any word?” He asked, now that he was thinking about it. Andy had mentioned that there would be no communications unless there was an emergency so Patrick wasn’t expecting _letters_ or texts or anything, but he...hoped, a little, that Pete or Joe or Sandman or even Andy would break that rule and send him _something._

“No,” Pedicone shook his head, “Sorry, Patrick. No word.”

“It’s okay,” Patrick tried not to sound too down, “They’ll be home soon, right?”

Pedicone didn’t say anything and they finished their journey in silence.

Big Sean, as they called him, met them in the front of the entrance to the soldier’s quarters, a mini community all on its own which was off limits to everyone not primarily a soldier. Medical staff were allowed in on emergencies and if one had an escort they could come in, or if they were Pete Wentz or Beyoncė, but Patrick had only been in a few times, once with Pete when Pete had come to speak with Big Sean over some business or other and the rest with Joe or Andy when they’d had to speak to someone.

“Hey, man,” Big Sean offered a hand and Patrick took it warmly, “How’s life as the commander, the leader of the guard and two of the council doin’ ya’?”

“Terribly,” Patrick said honestly, “I keep fucking up and getting lost. What was it you needed me for?”

“Just the weekly report. Joe took care of it last week, but it’s a weekly thing so…”

“Oh, yeah, okay. Where is it?”

“Verbal,” Big Sean grinned, motioning to the door, “Your man’s gotta stay out here right now.”

“Oh? Isn’t he a soldier?” Patrick asked, turning to look at Pedicone.

“Nah,” Pedicone waved his hand, “I kind of just came in a while ago, joined up with the group that matched my skills. Not technically a soldier.”

Patrick nodded, waving his hand a little, “Okay, I’ll see you in a little bit then. Don’t get hurt.”

“Out in the hall?” Pedicone raised his eyebrow, grinning warmly. Patrick laughed and followed Big Sean through the door, down a brightly lit hallway covered in blue and green paint and into an office with bright yellow and black walls and a makeshift desk.

“So what’s up?” Patrick asked, taking a seat in the chair Big Sean offered.

“Weird shit,” Big Sean said quietly, making eyes at the door for a few seconds before looking back to Patrick, “P-Stump, the last six out of ten missions got fucked by BL. You gettin’ me?”

“How many were hurt?”

“Two killed, seven injured in the last five,” Big Sean set in the chair across from Patrick and sighed, “If I didn’t know any better I’d say there was a mole, but no way could any Drac get past me, in gear or not.”

“I don’t doubt you,” Patrick assured him, “Maybe it’s just bad luck. Sometimes shit happens, man. When it rains, it pours, right?” He leaned back and pulled out his communicator to play with, “If it keeps happening, we can find a solution when Pete gets back. They’ll be home next week, until then, I think we should cut off not necessary missions.”

“Patrick,” Big Sean almost slumped back into his chair, “Do you know what you just said? That would require a full freeze of the whole faction.”

“If there is a mole, some how, more of our people are in danger. We can go full black out, right? The kids are leaving tonight, after that we’ll set up the minimum jobs needed to secure that we’re all safe and we’ll wait it out for Pete to get home with Beyoncé and the other two. They can’t hurt us if we aren’t there.”

“Shit, P-Stump.” Sean sighed, “A week without food retrieval will diminish our supplies some, but it’ll save us plenty on medical supplies if my guys and girls stop coming back with a need for ‘em.”

“It’s only for a week and a half,” Patrick promised, “And Pete can yell at me. I’m really not the guy you want in charge, I can’t even find my way in the filing room half the time, let alone help you plan how to smoke out this could-be mole that neither of us even think is here. A hole in the security systems, maybe they caught one of our people and they were forced into telling them, I dunno yet, but I don’t want anyone else hurt while we’re trying to figure it out.”

Big Sean nodded, standing up and offering a hand, “I’ll give the order then. We go nighttime until Pete gets back and we figure this mess out.”

“We’ll put a ban on going topside until then,” Patrick added, “Keep everyone down here, safe, until we know what the fuck is happening with our missions.”

Neither of them were happy about going silent when what they wanted to do was scream out loud in the city but both knew that, without Pete, they couldn’t do anything, anyway.

 

-

 

The announcement went out an hour later, after Patrick had found Travie and Gabe and told them what was up. Pedicone hadn’t been all that thrilled over being stuck in HQ until Pete’s return but he hadn’t said anything and Patrick hadn’t brought it up.

“And that’s it.” Gabe sighed, “We’re officially under lockdown. I guess we’ll have to back out of that promise from this morning, Pat-a-rick.”

“What? Why?” Patrick frowned, setting down the spoon he’d been using to pick at the remains of whatever Travie had shoved his way to eat, “No way. I want to be there tonight.”

“No way,” Nate mumbled around the bread he was wolfing down. The kids would be in soon and their favorite hobby was to harass Nate until they could steal his food, “It’s way too dangerous, Patrick.”

“If the kids are going, I want to go.” Patrick argued, “If they’re in danger-”

“If they’re in danger,” Gabe cut in, “We need to put all of our attention into saving them. It can’t be divided between them and you, Stumpster.”

“But-” Patrick tried to continue his argument but, finding his mind blank of any other justifications, slumped in defeat, “Fine. What did Shakira need to talk about?”

Travie swallowed the last of the sandwich he’d been mutching on and took a swig of water before he answered, “She just wanted to tell you that Maja had returned from her visit with the Pop Princess faction.”

“Pete mentioned that a couple days before he left,” Patrick finished off his own food and set his dish in the middle of the table with the others, “Why was it so important?”

“Beyoncé is originally from the Pop Princess faction,” Disashi spoke up, looking up from the light wound he’d been worrying over, “She always makes any of her girls go visit them for a couple of weeks to better learn their fighting secrets. Even Andy would have had to do it, had they not forbidden men from learning the secrets.”

“Wow,” Patrick blinked, “So she’s come home after learning the secrets that make Beyoncé and Andy and the others so badass?”

“Kind of,” Travie nodded, “But she was badass before. Now she’s scary badass.”

“So it wasn’t anything...threatening to the safety of our home?” Patrick checked, just to make sure.

“Nah,” Gabe waved a hand at him, “And the good news gets better for our mental wellbeing.”

“Really?” Victoria said dryly from her spot next to Patrick, “Do tell.”

“Since we’re going into lockdown, Beyoncé’s team is coming back in from hunting through the streets for any BL scum we missed on our other sweep throughs, so Patrick is gonna have an even stronger guard on him, just in case. And Salt and Pepa were who Andy replaced helping Pete so they’ll be able to help you out on that front, Pattycakes.”

“What?” Pedicone broke in, speaking up for the first time since the lockdown had been mentioned.

“You won’t be all alone to take care of this oddball,” Ryland laughed, ruffling Patrick’s hair through his hat annoyingly, “And you’ll get more free time. Lucky you.”

“Shut up,” Patrick pouted, “Pedicone and I have been doing great.”

“Yeah,” Pedicone laughed, “I don’t think I’ve been doing badly enough to need help, right?”

Gabe laughed, patting Pedicone’s shoulder before wrapping his arm around Patrick, “No, you’ve been doin’ great. It’s just, Patrick is some extremely important goods, my man. He’s our Pattycakes. We’d all be on guard duty if we could, so if Shakira and the girls think it’s a good idea to put themselves on him, we ain’t gonna argue.”

“You guys are stupid.” Patrick frowned, but he didn’t shrug Gabe of, “I’m not that important. I’m not more important than anyone else.”

“Maybe,” Gabe gave, “But you mean a lot to everyone, so stop being a baby and take the protection.”

“Yeah,” Ash nudged him, “Stop being a baby.”

“Are you calling us babies?” a young voice broke in, interrupting the conversation. Patrick looked over to Jeremy’s smirking face and made a mock guilty sound.

“You caught us, munchkins.” Suarez smirked, moving over to make room for the bravest of them to sit at the table with the rest of them, “We were mocking the shit out of you.”

“Shut up,” one of the Alexes stuck his tongue out and hopped up next to Suarez, “You’re supposed to be nice to us, it’s our last day.”

“Hey little Alex,” Ryland offered his hand and the kid slapped it hard, “You all feelin’ brave enough?”

“My names Cash, Ryland,” The Alex rolled his eyes hard and helped one of his Alexes next to him, “And this is Ian. The _others_ are all Alex, but we don’t call them Alex. This isn’t hard.”

“Your sass,” Eric clutched at his chest, “It stings us, little dude.”

“ _You’re_ sass,” one of the not Alexes mumbled, the older Josh, crossed his arms, “Do we really have to go?”

“Sorry, kid,” Travie nodded, “You really have to go. It isn’t safe here anymore. You’ll like it in Australia. There are thousands of kids from all over the world, you’ll learn so much.”

“But I want to stay here.” Zac mumbled, leaning against Patrick until he turned around and wrapped an arm around him, “I don’t want to go somewhere else. I want to stay here with Andy and Patrick.”

Patrick kind of felt his heart fracture.

He almost wanted to beg with them, _please let them stay, I don’t want to let them go_ , but he held his tongue. The last thing they needed was more upset. Instead, he hugged Zac tight for a few seconds before letting him go to run to his older brother, “I’m gonna miss you guys, too,” Patrick smiled, feeling forced and a little weak, but there none the less, “But going is what’s best for you, so that’s what you’re going to do. You’ve finished your lessons so you guys can read now and do math and some science and you’ll never forget how to create, right? And that’s what’s most important. Maybe when you’re older, you can come back.”

Tyler frowned up at him, clutching tight to his Josh’s hand, “But…”

“No but’s,” Patrick smiled, “This is supposed to be a happy time, right? We’re throwing a party for you! So let’s get some food and we can go to the music room after, okay?”

“Really?” Two of the Alexes asked at the same time, the other looking just as starry eyed but too shy to talk.

“Really,” Nate grinned, flinging some water at Sisky, who had been very quiet during the whole conversation.

Jeremy led the kids away with a look of fear, probably that he was leading eleven hyper children to a place with food and, by extension, a high risk for food _fights._

When Patrick was sure that all of them were gone he dropped his head in his hands and made a soft, sad sound, “I’m gonna miss the shit out of them.”

Gabe and Vicky both patted his back sympathetically and he said nothing more.

When the kids got back, they all ate at the table next to the usual one Patrick was at and no one even tried to start a food fight, which Patrick was pretty thankful for considering the freeze out they’d be going into after the kids were gone. Everyone laughed and teased each other until the last of the food had disappeared into laughing mouths and then their party of quite a few made it’s way to the music room, where each kid picked an instrument and someone who knew that instrument went to help them out. Patrick could play all of them, a product of spending most of his free time in this particular room since Joe had introduced him to it, but his favorite were the drums, so he joined Zac, the Alex called Johnson, and the smaller Josh on drums. Patrick had lost count of how many times he’d given in to letting them all come here to play so it wasn’t their first time with the sticks and he could sit back and listen to them drum at each other, little play songs they all made up on the spot to try and outplay each other. Eventually, Pedicone joined him and they all played together a little, Patrick and Johnson sharing a set because the other’s had all been filled. The room was filled with sounds, some clashing and others working together really well and it made Patrick’s head pulse, but in the best way possible. All this fucking _music_ , all this _creation_ from these little hands. It could have made him cry if he wasn’t busy trying to keep up. Eventually though, he had to break up the party because the kids needed at least a few hours of sleep before they left and it was getting to be their usual bedtime.

“I hate to say it,” He finally announced to the room, “But I think it’s time for you guys to head to bed. You’ve got a long night ahead of you and you leave in four hours.”

“Awww,” went up around the room,not just from the children, and Patrick had to hide a smile behind his hand until he could get it under control.

“I know, I know, but you guys need to be rested. It’s a bit of a journey, I’ve been told.”

“Do we _have to?_ ” The Alex called Singer asked, pouting behind the guitar he’d slung around his neck.

“Yeah, do they _have to?_ ” Ryland asked from next to him, sounding just as put out.

“Yes,” Patrick couldn’t stop the smile again but didn’t bother to hide it, “You _have to,_ I-”

“Patrick,” a voice from the door interrupted him. He turned, saw the look on Travie’s face before he and Gabe both disappear from the room and tried not to let the sudden stone in his stomach stop the smile on his face.

“I’ll be right back, guys,” He put his hands on his hips and tried to look menacing, “And when I get back, everything had better be cleaned and put up so we can head to bed, got it?”

“Got it,” All eleven voices, and a few older ones, chorused back at him as he walked out of the room. He hadn’t been expecting Big Sean in the hallway with Pete’s second in command’s, but it didn’t surprise him as much as he’d thought it should, thinking back on it.

“Patrick,” Travie said quietly, “We weren’t going to tell you this, not tonight and not since we were going into shutdown anyway, but, shit,”

“There’s a mole,” Gabe broke in, voice near silent yet somehow managing to echo in Patrick’s ears like it had been shouted.

“What.” Patrick tried to ask, though his voice had gone flat without permission, “What? A...a mole, seriously? How the fuck did a mole get passed Sean?”

“That’s just it,” Big Sean rubbed his face, “I don’t think they were a mole when I let them in. Look, let’s go to Pete’s office. I’ll show you.”

Patrick followed Travie’s lead, a little numbly because of fucking course Pete and Joe and Andy and Beyoncé would all be _gone_ when a fucking _mole_ was discovered in their fucking _rebel organization_ and there was nothing he could do about it besides listen to the reports and write it down in the right format.

“Shit,” He said weakly when they’d come into Pete’s office. He fell into Pete’s chair and tried to bask in the familiar scent of Pete and Sandman, tried to let their memory calm him.

“I was going through the timeline, trying to see if I could pinpoint anything suspicious that I had just brushed off, anything I could use, and I found something.” Big Sean laid out a thin file on the desk between the four of them and opened it, revealing a few sheets of paper.

“These,” He wiggled one of the papers, “Is what we’d had planned and shared with the troops, and this-” He wiggle the next page, “Is what we actually did. This paper,” He showed the last one, “Shows which missions were blotched and which weren’t. Look, see how the green went off well? These are the missions that were either not shared with the main mass or missions that were changed last minute and did not follow the pre-released plans. The missions in red are the blotched missions, the ones we shared with the mass. Pete and I thought it had been a coincidence, but looking back...the worst part is how, here,” he motions to the bottom of the thir paper, where the red vastly outnumbered the green, “This part. The red has gone significantly up, to the point that the only missions not being tampered with are the ones that were changed just before and were neither announced or…”

“Or the plans weren’t anywhere. Not with you. Not here, in Pete’s office. The one’s in red...the plans were in here, weren’t they?” Patrick asked quietly, feeling that stone sink even further, like it was trying to drag his stomach to the floor, the rest of him be damned.

“Yes. The mole’s managed to get into Pete’s office. It looks like it started about a week before he left, but it picked up afterwards. Specifically this week, with the last four completely fucked over.”

“So it’s confirmed?” He asked, just to make sure, “We’re all in agreement?”

“Yes,” Gabe said firmly, “No way is this just coincidence now.”

“We need to notify Pete.” Patrick rubbed his face, “Send T-Boz, Left Eye and Chilli. Rumor has it that Dr. Death Defying follows the desert bazaar around this time of year so send them that way. We need to get them home as fast as possible.”

“I haven’t told anyone in the barracks about the lockdown yet,” Big Sean admitted, “I wasn’t sure if I could trust my men.”

“That’s good,” Patrick admitted, “Because I’m not sure either. The lockdown goes into effect immediately, I want a guard at every exit we have. No one gets in or out without our say-so. You have trusted people?”

“Yes,” Big Sean agreed, “Tried and tested.”

“I want at least one of them at every exit too, with a constant communication with you. We don’t know how big this is anymore. If we’ve got one, there’s no telling if we’ve got more.”

“Got it,” Big Sean put the papers back into the file, but left it on the desk, “Anything else?”

“If you’ve got any suspicions, bring them in.” Patrick finally said, rubbing his forehead. Was this what Pete was feeling constantly? This insane pressure?

“I will.” Big Sean nodded before he left, shutting the door behind him.

“You’re going to be suspected.” Travie said immediately, “You’ve got a pretty loyal following but you’ve got a few naysayers, too. Mostly because you’re so close to all of us.”

“I know,” Patrick nodded, “But I’m not worried about me right now. Let’s just make it through getting the kids away and then we can focus on how we’re gonna smoke out this person or these people before something even worse happens.”

“You got it, Pattycakes.” Gabe tried to joke, but it fell flat.

They locked up and went back to the music room, Patrick trying to regain that happy smile before he walked in, for the sake of the kids. He didn’t want to worry them on such an important night.

“Shit,” Travie, the first one to walk back into the music room, said as soon as the door was open. Patrick pushed through the both of them, feeling dread in his stomach right next to the stone and his fingers already tingling. Those both fell away when he saw that the room had remained largely unchanged, except for a panicked Pedicone in the middle of a group of crying motorbabies and the rest of his friends looking guilty.

“What happened?” He demanded, moving to let Travie and Gabe both file in, “We were gone for ten minutes, what happened?”

“I-is it true,” the Alex called Marshall sniffed loudly, voice wobbly, “that you aren’t coming to say goodbye?”

“What?” Patrick asked for the third time in fifteen minutes, “Who told you that?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Pedicone said apologetically, “I really didn’t mean to, I didn’t know it was a secret, I just-”

“It’s...it’s okay,” Patrick waved at him, mostly to get him quiet, “Why are you all crying?”

“Y-you were gonna just-” Tyler started but broke into sobs and hid his face in Josh’s shoulder, who gave Patrick a wounded look that hurt him somewhere deep.

“No, no,” Patrick waved his hands, “That isn’t-I wasn’t, right?” He turned to look at Travie and Gabe desperately, needing some way to make them stop before he joined them.

“No!” Gabe forced a loud laugh, “Of course Patrick is coming with us to say goodbye! He just can’t go into the desert. He’ll come with us as far as the city wall, right, Trav?”

“Right,” Travie nodded, looking unsure, “But then he has to come back because it’s even more dangerous for him to be out there than it is for us.”

“Really?” the Alex called Cash sniffled from where he and the other Alexes were huddled together miserably.

“Really,” Patrick agreed, “So no more crying, okay? You’ll all get headaches. Jeremy, let’s get them to bed so they’re rested.”

“Yeah, of course,” Jeremy nodded, beginning to usher them all off. Patrick thought Jeremy was his new favorite. That kid was better with the motorbabies than anyone Patrick had ever met before.

When they were all gone, Pedicone tried apologizing again, “I’m so sorry, Patrick, I really didn’t-”

“It’s okay,” Patrick waved at him tiredly, “Really. I wanted to go anyway.”

“Shit,” Travie cursed, “Okay. You will stay with us the whole way, got it? Gabe is going to stay with you at the wall and I’ll take the kids, it isn’t that far out so we should be fine. I swear to God, Patrick, if something happens to you, I’ll kill you myself.”

“I promise,” Patrick smiled, feeling that rush of warmth he got any time any of them expressed their care for him, “Nothing will happen. Quickest drop you’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, right.” Gabe sighed, “Knowing you, it’s gonna be the most stressful mission we’ve ever been on.”

 

-

 

They left at twelve, exactly. Gabe, Travie, Jeremy, Patrick and Pedicone make up the party outside of the children while their teams stayed behind to assist Big Sean with setting up a guard for each exit of the compound.

“Stick close to us,” Travie listed the rules as they walked. The motorbabies were completely silent, except for the slight shuffle of their feet on the concrete and rock of the tunnels and quiet huffing noises when one or another tripped. “If we tell you to do something, you do it without question, without hesitation. If you see something, tell us. If you feel like something is wrong, tell us. If you get scared, remember that you are big kids now and you can’t let fear control you anymore. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” they echoed each other, until it was quiet again. Patrick and Jeremy walked in the middle, offering support and comfort when someone did get scared while Travie led the group and Pedicone and Gabe protected their backs. It wasn’t long until they reached the ladder that would take them topside and, here, Travie turned to address them again.

“I’m going to go up first. You will follow me quickly and silently until we are all above ground. From there, we will make our way to the city wall, where Patrick, Pedicone and Gabe will stay put. We will go a little bit out and there will be a van to take you all away. Pedicone, tell Sean we’re heading topside and not to expect anymore communication from us for exactly one and a half hours.”

“Got it,” Pedicone nodded, pulling out his communicator and beginning to type frantically.

When he’d slid the communicator back into his pockets, Travie checked with Jeremy and Patrick and then began to climb. This particular exit came out inside of a building, a small, dark room located behind one of the apartment complexes in the outskirts of the city. It was the second closest exit there was to the city wall - the other used in emergencies only for quick escapes when being chased in the tunnels.

The kids were good, quiet and fast, until everyone was above ground and the entrance to the tunnel was covered by thick pieces of wood and trash.

“Wow,” Taylor murmured quietly, “That’s so cool.”

“Hush,” Patrick smiled, “What did Travie say?”

“Stay quiet,” Taylor pouted, but he went back to silence when Travie gave them both a look and opened the door into the darkness of the open air.

It was quiet, not quiet enough to be dangerous, but enough for Travie to feel safe taking them out of the room. Tyler and Sisky, and by extension of Tyler, the smaller Josh, clung to Patrick’s hands the whole walk. Patrick hadn’t been above ground without Pete since his coming to the Young Blood headquarters. Their weekly excursions to paint on walls and cause small havocs while Better Living slept were the most exposure to the above ground world he’d had in some time. His toes tingled but his grip remained strong. He had to remain strong, until the kids were safe and on their way to Australia.

“Patrick,” the bigger Josh stopped walked, clutching tight to his brother’s hand. Zac clung to him, his face hidden in Josh’s shoulder so he stopped too, and it led the whole party to a standstill, “Patrick, someone is…”

“Following us.” Gabe said quietly, “Keep walking.”

They started again, closer and closer to the wall. The other entrance would be close by, only a meter or four from the wall itself. Patrick half wanted to find it and return to the base, bring the kids when it _felt_ safer. The footsteps behind them were audible now.

“Faster.” Travie said tightly. Patrick gripped Tyler’s hand harder and picked up his pace, made sure the kids around him were going faster. He was flashing back to that night, that fucking night that felt like the start of all of this for him. The blond boy, herding him into the group of children. Kids pressed in tight around him, passing by, Dracs and Vixens appearing in the shadows as they ran.

Dracs and Vixens appearing in the shadows.

“Run.” Travie said, just as calmly and quietly as before.

They ran.

The wall came into view and Patrick didn’t know what to do so he gave the order.

“Get them back,” He snapped at Travie, “Get them back to base, we’re not doing the drop, the van’s probably gone by now.”

“Patrick, we’d need to get back down the ladder,” Gabe said from behind him, “We’d be too slow.”

“You can do it.” Patrick felt his limbs begin to tremble. The footsteps had multiplied, “You have to do it, Gabe. Get them the fuck back to base and into the safety of the compound.”

Travie didn’t say anything else but he changed his course and Patrick knew instinctively that the safety exit was close by.

How had this gone so wrong? The plans for this hadn’t been written down anywhere, not in Pete’s office, not on the system, it had never been written down before because it was such a highly important process. The fucking tunnel to the ladder was always guarded and off limits to regular soldiers or community members, even the ladder itself was camouflaged into the wall so it couldn’t be found easily by someone who didn’t know to look for it. The timing was always different, no set pattern to when the kids were taken and brought in, a completely randomized process. This whole expedition had been a secret, how the hell had Better Living known where they would be at this exact time?

Patrick’s blood ran cold but he didn’t stop moving, his limbs mechanical parts moving to the tune they’d been wired to. Travie reached the entrance first and shoved the boxes used to hide it over, ripping the metal top off and jumping in without bothering with the ladder.

“Throw them down!” He called from above. Jeremy moved to begin lowering children and Gabe moved to protect Patrick from the coming Dracs. They approached slowly, carefully, like fucking dead people behind masks of vampires. There were no Vixens, just a single lady in a white lab coat.

Pedicone tired to step forward but Patrick put a hand to his chest and steeled himself.

“How long, Pedicone?”

“What?” Pedicone frowned at him, “Patrick, what are you talking about, we don’t have time-”

“How fucking long have you been working for them?” he snapped, losing his patience entirely, “How long have you been betraying the people who gave you a home!?”

“Patrick!” Pedicone gasped, sounding appalled. But his face had lost its color and Patrick knew it was true, deep in his body, he could feel the anger and hatred welling up from deep in his stomach - the roommates coming home from vacation.

“You’ve been informing. This whole thing started a few days after you were put on my detail. You were allowed into Pete’s office whenever I was there, and I was there all the time, to be with Pete or Joe or Andy. You snuck in while I was with Andy, you reported what Big Sean announced to his masses and you told them where we’d _fucking_ be when we did the _fucking drop_ , you traitor! We never suspected you, why would we? We’d given you a home, we rescued you from the dead fucking corpses of your _family_ , why the hell would you betray us?”

“Patrick, no, I-” Pedicone tried, but Gabe had drawn the ray gun he always kept on him. He had it aimed at Pedicone and Patrick stepped back, out of the way.

“Fucking admit it.” Gabe snapped, “We let you in. We let you in and you did _this em >!?”_

Patrick looked over to check on Jeremy’s status. He was half in the hole, no doubt a kid in his arms, but too many still cowering around the entrance to be safe.

“Fine.” Pedicone said, snapping Patrick’s attention back to his _bodyguard_.

“Yeah, I did it. I’ve been spying.” He stepped back, into the tens of Dracs that had appeared, “They offered me safety. When you guys were caught, they said they’d kill everyone they found down there. I didn’t want to be a part of that. I don’t want to die, Patrick. Not again.”

“Did you tell them?” Patrick asked, feeling his whole body begin to tingle with oncoming panic, “Did you tell them where our fucking-”

“No,” Gabe said carefully, “No, he didn’t. He didn’t because he wanted to be safe. There’s no guarantee that they wouldn’t just go in and kill us all, him included. He’s much safer if they have no idea where our base is. He can just continue giving them information, keep him safe if he gets caught topside, but he’s still just fine with us when he isn’t.”

“You’re scum,” Patrick couldn’t help but say, “You’re disgusting. We called you _friend_.”

“I call myself _alive_ ,” Pedicone snapped, “Unlike what you’ll be in a few minutes. We’ve got you surrounded. Do you really think they’ll make it all the way to base with this many Dracs on their tails? They’d be lucky if anyone got away, let alone made it all the way back.”

“Gabe!” Jeremy suddenly screamed and Gabe and Patrick both turned. Gabe shot the Drac before it got far and the Alex called Ian, sobbing hysterically, scurried back to his friends and fell into them. Five left, all of the Alexes, and the Dracs were closing in. Jeremy reached frantically for them and they shoved the Alex called Ian into his arms to be lifted down next.

Another came forward, grabbed for the Alexes but Gabe shot him without hesitating and he was down, too close for comfort.

“They just want you, Patrick.” Pedicone said softly, bringing Patrick’s attention back to him. He brought Gabe’s back as well, but Gabe barely turned towards him, most of his attention still on shooting the Dracs who, one by one, tried to snatch one of the motorbabies and were taken down, like clockwork.

“What?” Patrick shivered, clutched Gabe’s shirt carefully because it felt like the world was falling down around him, “Me?”

“You.” Pedicone nodded, “Of course they just want you, Patrick. You’re Patrick _Stump_ , your father found out the biggest secret they have and they want to know where he put it, so they want you.”

“I don’t know,” Patrick said, “I don’t know anything about it. My dad never told me anything, I don’t know,”

“Be that as it may, they still want you. All you have to do is come quietly and they’ll let your friends go.”

Patrick stepped forward before he even thought about it, “Just me?”

“No,” Gabe snapped, “No fucking way. Patrick, get the fuck over here, right the fuck _now._ ”

“But,” Patrick said quietly, “Gabe,”

“Get the _fuck_ over here, right _fucking_ now!” Gabe yelled at him, “Pete would never forgive me if I let you go like this. Never. You’re so fucking much to him, Patrick. I won’t let them have you, not unless they kill me first.”

“Gabe,” Patrick said quietly, letting go of his shirt. A calm had settled over him, something he hadn’t felt in his whole life, “Gabe, you have to take care of them. Keep them safe. You know Pete would chose them over me, and I do, too. No one would blame you.”

“Pete would.” Gabe snapped back, voice not softening for an instant, “Pete would pick you over anything in the world, Patrick, over anyone else. Sandman would do it even quicker, nothing comes before you to him. Nothing comes before him to me.”

Patrick wanted to cry for Gabe, to hear the pain in his voice and know he was causing it. He didn’t know Gabe’s story, it had never been brought up, but he knew how much Pete meant to him, just how dedicated Gabe was to him, to Patrick _because_ of Pete.

“Gabe, I’m ordering you to protect them. Pete speaks through me right now, and I’m telling you-”

“I don’t care.” Gabe shook his head. He shot again but the shot nearly missed this time, his hands shaking, “I don’t care what you say. He saved my life. He brought me back from the dead. Pete means _everything_ to me, I won’t let them take you. Not knowing how much it would kill him to have you gone. I can’t. I won’t.”

“You have to.” Patrick said quietly, “You have to. You know what’s right in this situation, Gabe. You know what you have to do.”

“Don’t make me.” Gabe said quietly, hands slowly dropping, “Patrick, don’t make me do this.”

“I’m _ordering_ you to save those children.” Patrick said firmly, “Go fucking do it.”

“You did this on purpose.” Gabe turned to Pedicone almost completely, one eye on the Dracs circling the last two Alexes, “You fucking brought him here. That was no accident, telling the kids he wasn’t coming. This was your last chance to get him before the freeze out. You planned all of this.”

“Surprise.” Pedicone lifted his hands in a ‘what can you do’ gesture, “But seriously. Just let Patrick come with us and we won’t even chase you. You can all get away, just for one itsy bitsy dude. Better pay attention.”

The Alex called Cash screamed, piercing the night air, and another Drac went down.

“Go,” Patrick shoved at Gabe suddenly, towards the kids, “Go. Tell Pete, Sandman and Joe - shit. Tell them all that I love them. Tell them this wasn’t your fault, this wasn’t their fault. Tell the kids I’ll miss them.”

“Patrick,” Gabe said desperately, “Patrick, please, don’t do this, I can’t do this to him, please, fucking don’t do this,”

“Sorry, Gabe.” Patrick grinned, big and wide in front of the fracturing of everything inside of him, “We all have our orders. Same goes to Travie, okay?”

“Please,” Gabe tried one more time. He’d never heard that voice from Gabe before, almost like his father had sounded before he died.

Patrick blinked, ignored the wetness in the word and on Gabe’s face.

“Go.”

Gabe went, shoving Jeremy and the last kid down the hole. Before he disappeared, he hurled his ray at Patrick and then was gone. One of the Dracs even dropped the metal plate back onto the hole and balanced the boxes back atop it.

Patrick caught the ray gun, felt the weight in his hand and the burn of the plasma inside.

“Well, them.” A woman’s voice broke though, “That was emotional, wasn’t it? Why don’t you come with us, Patrick. We’re going to have _lots_ of fun going through that beautiful brain of yours.”

Patrick felt the Dracs surround him, felt the last of his control snap.

“I’m coming,” He said, feeling his whole body begun to shake, “I’m coming, I’m coming, just, just, one thing. One more thing and then I can go with you.”

“One more thing?” She laughed, “Darling, we just let your friends live. Isn’t that enough?”

“Yeah,” Patrick laughed weakly, lifting the gun and aiming at Pedicone’s suddenly terrified face, “Yeah, you did let them live. But now I need to make sure they _survive._ ”

Pedicone tried to run but the Dracs were everywhere and Patrick’s shot was steady and true. He went down with a spray of blood, something Patrick hadn’t seen in a long time but was strangely familiar with, like an old friend that had gone away for awhile.

“Try picking that brain,” He laughed, dropping the gun, “It’s all over the ground now.”

“Oh, Patrick,” The woman sighed, sounding upset, “That wasn’t nice of you.”

“I’m not here to be nice,” Patrick snapped, feeling his knees turn to jelly. He fell, someone caught him and he couldn’t help but fight. He lost all meaning. Nothing was there anymore, just the constant rage and terror he’d been fighting back for years and years and years. They’d finally come for him and no blanket fort or strong blond boy could protect him now. He fought and fought and sung and screamed, until he could fight and sing and scream no more and was gone from his new world, his whole body flaming with choking guilt. Pete’s face was the last thing he saw in his mind’s eye, warm brown flashing to black and then back until even that went dark.

 

-

 

Patrick woke up surrounded by white.

White walls and white appliances and white clothes.

White and a blond boy.

 

**Author's Note:**

> NEXT: We Were Born To Take It Back, This Is Revelational (I Am Not Afraid, Love Is Coming Out To Play)  
> STATUS: Posted


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